Two
by The Extreme Piercing
Summary: One of them has been clinging to a hopeless dream since childhood, and needs to let go. The other just needs to grow up. Bayonetta/Jeanne F/F
1. Chapter 1

**Two**

**Disclaimer: Bayonetta and Jeanne were created by and are the intellectual property of Platinum Games. No copyright infringement intended.**

**This fic depicts a lesbian relationship between Bayonetta and Jeanne. There are some conversational references to sex, but other than that, it's just two women talking about their feelings.**

**Spoilers for the end of the game, I guess.**

Cereza had only spent a few moments in Michael Kaufmann's office before the doctor understood: here is a woman who expects eyes on her every single moment of the day.

This was a woman who knew exactly what image she wished to project to the world. This was a woman who knew that the gaze of strangers could fall upon her at any moment, and that she must always be ready for them. Every action that she took seemed calculated to foster an aura of style and self-assurance. Every movement that she made seemed as if it were a practiced transition from one pose to the next.

**Pose 1:** The patient stood in the doorway, a hand on her waist, hips jutting slightly to the right, head faintly inclined, a disinterested expression upon her face as she gazed into the room beyond.

**Transition 1:** The patient sauntered across the room to where Kaufmann stood, her hips swaying in tandem with each step.

**Pose 2:** The patient projected her chest forward as she gazed at the doctor, almost daring him to stare at something other than her eyes.

"You must be Doctor Kaufmann." She had an English accent, and spoke with a curiously affected voice. Gesturing to the bank of diplomas and certificates displayed on the wall, she went on: "You are quite the academic achiever aren't you? Are you looking forward to having me stretched out across your couch?"

"Sure I am. Why don't you make yourself comfortable?"

**Transition 2:** The patient strutted towards the sofa, and the doctor wondered if she injected a little extra wiggle into her backside solely for his benefit.

**Pose 3:** The patient lay across the sofa, her head propped up against an armrest, her feet dangling unconcernedly in the air.

Outwardly, Kaufmann said: "Make yourself at home. Feel free to think of this office as a safe place."

Inwardly, Kaufmann thought: _This has to be an act. This woman is a churning mass of neuroses and insecurities. She __**has**__ to be._

The doctor settled down in his chair, pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, and began flipping through his notebook for a fresh page. "Now, Cereza…what can we help you with?"

The patient took a deep breath. "My girlfriend told me that if I didn't go to counseling, she would leave me. So," waving her hand dismissively, "here I am."

"I see. Your girlfriend's name is…?"

"Jeanne."

"Jeanne. And why exactly does Jeanne think you need counseling?"

She shrugged. "Buggered if I know. When she gave me her little ultimatum, naturally I asked her exactly what my psychological flaw was. She just smiled at me, and said: 'That's why you need to see a professional. Ask them!'" Cereza leaned back into the couch, and fixed Kaufmann with a stare. "So, Mister Professional. What's wrong with me?"

"Right. Well, let's just take a step right back, first of all. Let's get to know each other a little, first, shall we? What do you do for a living, Cereza?"

"You can drop the ignorant play-acting. You know who I am."

"I beg your pardon? Have we met before?"

She let loose an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyeballs skywards. "You mean to tell me that you don't watch television?"

"The idiot box? No, I don't."

"Have you ever picked up a newspaper, Mister Kaufmann?"

"Newspapers have very transparent agendas, these days. I find them intolerable."

The woman pushed herself up onto an elbow, her brow creased with irritation. "Have you lived beneath a rock for the last few years? You know who I am! Everyone in the world knows who I am!"

"Well, I'd like to hear who you are in your own words…"

She flopped back down onto the couch, defeated. "My name is Cereza, although my friends, my enemies, my fans and the paparazzi all prefer 'Bayonetta'. I'm a witch, and I made a deal with a demon called Madame Butterfly in exchange for magical powers. I was born five hundred years ago, although I spent most of that time sleeping in a metal casket at the bottom of a lake, and ever since I woke up, twenty years ago, I've been doing my damnedest to make up for all the fun I missed. Two years ago I saved the world by destroying a reborn God. I punched her into the sun, it was in the news. I currently work as a model, although I don't get to model nearly as much as I'd like because if I don't hunt angels every single day of my life I'll get dragged down to hell."

"I see." Kaufmann crossed his legs, and in a very delicate manner, said: "Perhaps the reason that Jeanne urged you to go to therapy was because she wanted you to recognize that you suffer from delusions of grandeur…"

Bayonetta sat bolt upright. "I am not mad! These things happened. Look me up on Wikipedia, if you don't believe me…"

"Alright, alright, I believe you, Cereza. Now, your girlfriend, Jeanne, demanded that you see a psychiatrist, and she threatened to end your relationship if you didn't agree."

"Yes. Which tells you what a bloody reasonable woman she is."

"Cereza, I bet you and Jeanne have been having a lot of arguments lately…"

"Oh, you couldn't imagine. It's her fault that we're always fighting. Jeanne is always trying to change who I am, but I'm no one's doormat."

"What do you mean when you say that Jeanne tries to 'change who you are'?"

"Well, for a start, she's always nagging at me to dress differently. As you have no doubt noticed, Mister Kaufmann, I have been blessed with an absolutely _sumptuous_ body. Six foot tall, 34D, a perfectly-moulded arse. I won the fucking genetic lottery! It's only natural that I'd want to show off, wouldn't you agree? I mean, if you somehow managed to get rid of the potbelly and lovehandles that we both know are lurking beneath your shirt, and if you replaced them with rippling muscles, surely you'd opt for an ensemble that flaunted such a splendid physique, hmmmm?"

"Er, I might do, I suppose…"

"But, unfortunately, due to her upbringing, Jeanne is sexually repressed. She has a horror of the human body. It's very sad…"

"I see. So Jeanne objects to you wearing revealing clothing…"

"Oh yes. You'd think she'd be _pleased_. The whole world knows what a beauty her girlfriend is, and she gets to say: _you can all look, but only I can touch._ Instead she throws a tantrum if I display so much as an inch of skin."

"Right."

"At the moment I'm modeling a lingerie line. We were out driving last weekend, and we went past this one-hundred foot billboard with me in nothing but frilled panties. That made for a pleasant afternoon, as you can imagine."

"Right."

"And she's so judgmental of me when I go out on the town. I work hard, you should know! I fight angels every day, and if I don't, devils will drag me down to hell and have their way with me! I have the right to let off a little steam! Is it too much to ask her to understand that? And modeling is hard work, also. All these people buzzing around you while you're standing in nothing but your knickers. The point is _I deserve to unwind_. I work bloody hard, and if I want to go out and get obnoxiously drunk, well, _I've earned it! _But Jeanne doesn't see it this way, oh no. If I come home a few hours late, she gives me a speech. If I climb into bed smelling of vodka, she gives me a speech. If the newspapers have pictures of me vomiting into a gutter, she gives me a speech. If I call her to ask her to bail me out of jail because I started a fight with bouncers, she gives me a speech."

"I see."

"She's always telling me how irresponsible I am. I'm not irresponsible, of course. She just likes to think of herself as oh-so-mature."

"Right."

"It even extends into the bedroom, would you believe?" Cereza looked around, searching for a clock. "How long has our little session gone on for?"

"About twenty minutes…"

"Is it too early to start talking about sex?"

"Uh…"

"Let's talk about sex. She's always going on about how I'm never in touch with her feelings. I like my sex nice and _hot_, you see. Lights on, furniture shaking, neighbours banging on the walls, that sort of thing. Jeanne, on the other hand, likes her sex tender and emotional. Lights off, or candles, even. Lots of weeping and caressing and whispering of sweet nothings. And that's okay! Everyone has preferences. But she's always whining about how I make her feel like a piece of meat. Why does sex always need to be about _love?_ I mean, good grief, I care for her and everything, but sometimes I just want to suspend her from the ceiling and whip her! Why does she have to overcomplicate things?"

"Okay…"

"So, to sum up, yes, we do have rather a lot of arguments. None of which were ever started by me. I believe in live-and-let-live, you know. Jeanne is always finding excuses to start disagreements. If she learned not to judge other people, things would be so much better."

Cereza looked expectantly at the man sitting across from her.

"Right!" said Kaufmann. He glanced down at the notebook on his lap; the page was still blank. "Well, kudos to you for being so forthcoming, Cereza. That was very, uh, informative. May I ask what Jeanne does for a living?"

"She's a teacher."

"That doesn't surprise me. It's obvious that this is a woman who places a great importance on responsibility and duty…"

"Whilst gazing down her nose upon everyone who has different priorities in life…"

"Be that as it may, I don't think we're going to be able to solve this situation unless all of the relevant parties are involved. When you go home tonight, why don't you tell Jeanne that I also do couples' counseling?"

()()()()()()()()()

**Cereza Transition 1: **Patient #1 stalked angrily through the door into Doctor Kaufmann's office, a scowl on her face.

**Jeanne Transition 1:** Patient #2 moved into the room with grace and poise. There was a hopeful expression on her face.

**Cereza Pose 1:** Patient #1 stood with her shoulders hunched, looking warily about the office. She cast the occasional resentful look at Patient #2.

**Jeanne Pose 1:** Patient #2 stood before Kaufmann in a welcoming stance, and offered her hand. "Thank you for inviting me here."

"Not at all. We're glad you're here. Why don't you ladies make yourself comfortable?"

**Cereza Transition 2:** Patient #1 stomps sullenly towards the couch. Today, Kaufmann is not treated to a bum wiggle.

**Jeanne Transition 2:** Patient #2 moves sprightly towards the sofa. She glances at Patient #1, and smiles. The smile remains unreturned.

**Cereza Pose 2:** Patient #1 sinks into the couch, crosses her legs, and plants her chin on her fist. She leans away from Patient #2, and glares resolutely at a random piece of carpet.

**Jeanne Pose 2:** Patient #2 sits upright and attentive. The hopeful expression has not left her face.

Kaufmann lowered himself into his chair, and flipped open his notebook. "Now, Jeanne, from my little talk with Cereza yesterday, I understand that you demanded she go to therapy, and that if she refused, you would terminate the relationship."

"That's correct."

"May I ask, when Cereza agreed to go to therapy, how did that make you feel?"

"It made me very happy. I was relieved, to tell the truth."

"And, did you express this relief to Cereza?"

"No, no, I didn't." Jeanne turned to Cereza, and gently touched the other woman's knee. "That was a mistake. I should have told you how…grateful I am that you're making the effort to save this relationship. This relationship means the world to me, Cereza. You have to understand, sometimes I think that you…don't care. It made me so happy when you showed me that you do care."

From the other side of the couch, a grudging: "Mmmmmph."

"Jeanne, what do you mean when you think Cereza doesn't care?"

"She knows how much it bothers me, the way she acts! She knows how much it upsets me, when she flaunts herself to the entire world! She knows how _exasperated_ I get when she doesn't take care of herself. But my feelings don't matter, do they?"

Cereza turned to Jeanne, a disturbingly warped smile on her face. "Jeanne, dear. You're a woman, aren't you?"

Jeanne frowned in confusion. "Yes?"

"And what is it that all women find attractive in their partners?"

Jeanne shrugged. "A good heart?"

"_Confidence_, Jeanne. Women are attracted to confidence." She turned away with a bored expression. "It's really quite a turn-off when you're all needy and clingy."

For a moment, Jeanne gawped at her, seeming as if she had been slapped. "Oh, that is so generous of you, Cereza!" she said at last, almost shouting. "Thank you, that really helps!"

"Cereza, can you not see how that's unfair?" said Kaufmann. "Jeanne gave some of her insight into the relationship, making herself vulnerable in the process, and you threw it in her face!"

"She always does this! Whenever I confront her about her behaviour, she always twists it so that it's my fault!"

"Cereza, I think Jeanne would really appreciate it if, just once, you agreed to confront the issues that she thinks are important."

Cereza's eyes rolled into her skull. "Ugh," she responded.

"Every week, the tabloids unearth some sordid tryst that Cereza had in the past. Perhaps she had a threesome with two Portugese millionaires. Or perhaps she made a sex tape with some pop singer. Or perhaps she had an abortion years ago. These stories keep appearing, and every time I read them a part of me dies inside."

"Well, darling, the solution to that little problem is obvious," said Cereza in a artificially sweet voice. The next sentence was not spoken sweetly at all: _"Stop fucking reading them!"_

"I can't help it!" She was nearly screaming, and her voice was wavering. "I put so much into this relationship, _so fucking much_, and every time I hear one of these stories I feel like, I feel like I'm being _made fun of!_"

"Well that's your problem, sweetie! I didn't even _know_ you back then! You may be my girlfriend now, but the fact is that what I did in those days was _none of your business!_ It's a damn shame you feel so insecure, but I'm not going to force myself to feel guilty for the things I did, just to make you feel better."

"You never make me feel better. You make me feel worse. I go to bed some nights and you're not there because you're in a ditch somewhere, drunk or high. You saved the world, Cereza, but now, two years' later, you're a punchline on some terrible comedian's television show. They don't talk about how brave and strong you are anymore, that stopped long ago. They laugh at you, they talk about what a lush and a drunkard you are. Everyone in the world with eyes has seen you naked, you kiss and fondle men and women in your photoshoots, and I'm not supposed to mind because it's 'just work'. And you dress like a slut."

"Are you that superficial, dearie? Judging a person because of the way they live their life, even if they're hurting no one? How…underwhelming."

"I start to believe that you don't care. Which is foolish, because I know, deep down, you _do_ care, but you're too proud, or you don't trust me, or you can't let me in. It's not that you don't care, it's that you're too stupid to realize you're hurting someone who loves you."

Cereza tut-tutted. "Stupid? Now, she's resorting to childish insults, doctor!"

"I know that it's my own insecurity that's causing me this grief. But you won't lift a finger to make me feel better about us. I begin to feel that I'm no different from all of the hundreds of people you've seduced over the years. Cereza, I give you my everything, _my everything,_ but you're still the same careless, irresponsible thrillseeker that you always were."

Kaufmann noticed that Jeanne had shrunk deeper and deeper into the couch. She seemed exhausted. On the opposite end of the couch, Cereza shot him an eager look.

"Well, Mister Psychiatrist. I sense an awkward silence just ahead. What does the professional have to say about all this?"

Kaufmann inhaled deeply. "When a big chunk of information like this finds its way to the open, I've found that it's a good idea to take some time to sort through everything. Why don't we call it a wrap for today? Tell my secretary to fix you up with whatever time is convenient for you."

Cereza slapped her knees. "It's getting quite late." She nudged the woman beside her, and smiled brightly. "If we don't slaughter some angels fairly sharpish, we may not be able to make our next session. Ever."

Jeanne had been staring at the floor. She raised her head, and gazed at Cereza.

Cereza couldn't help a flash of discomfort passing across her face.

**I don't know why it seems to me that these situations seem appropriate for a character like Bayonetta. First I put her in an alcohol addiction clinic, now I put her in therapy. At least the concept compelled me to get some writing done.**

**I'm sure that some of you will know where Kaufmann is from.**

**I'll try to write the concluding part as soon as inspiration allows. Let's just hope that this fic isn't part of the 50% of my work that will remain forever uncompleted, eh?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

**Chapter 2**

**Disclaimer: Bayonetta and Jeanne were created by and are the intellectual property of Platinum Games. No copyright infringement intended.**

"Really, doctor, I don't understand why I have to attend therapy myself," said Jeanne, as she settled into the couch. "Cereza is the one who is trying to choke to death on her own vomit."

"Therapy is as much concerned with appreciating different perspectives as it is healing psychological damage," said Kaufmann, who was himself getting comfortable. "I think you and Cereza will both find it helpful if you just see things from different viewpoints."

"Are you sure you don't just want two paying customers, hmmmm?"

Kaufmann gestured to the inconceivably expensive-looking designer handbag sitting in the corner of the couch. "You seem like a woman who understands that quality costs money."

"True, true."

"So, Jeanne, how are things between yourself and Cereza? What's happened since our last meeting?"

Jeanne groaned. "Last Thursday morning," she began, "I woke up, got out of bed, had a shower, went downstairs, and hanging above the fireplace, what do I find? A six-foot by seven-foot, framed, black-and-white photograph of Cereza. Naked."

Kaufmann's brow creased in confusion.

"I asked her what the hell it was, and she told me that some famous French nude photographer – I don't remember his name, but then again I don't usually memorize the names of pornographers – was visiting the city, and she just _had_ to pose for him! It was a lifelong dream, she said! So now there's a gigantic nude image of my partner overlooking the living room, and every time I sit down to have tea I'm reminded that a Gallic sleaze-merchant has been pointing his lens at my girlfriend's pudenda!"

The doctor shrugged. "Well, if she appreciates his work…"

"Oh, Cereza doesn't know the least thing about art! _She did it to antagonize me_, doctor. _Everything_ that she does is to provoke people. You see how fond she is of tearing her clothes off for the whole world to see. Lingerie adverts. Glamour shoots. Demonic rituals which always end up with her clothes disappearing. She's taunting people, telling them that they may gaze upon her, but they can never have her."

"Well, doesn't that make you feel special?"

"It makes me feel _cheapened_! As if she doesn't care about the bond that we have!"

"But Jeanne, there has to be a difference between the public Cereza – Bayonetta! – and the private Cereza. Cereza is not a caricature, Jeanne, you know this! She's a human being! Now, sure, she projects an image of a hypersexualized parody of a woman, but this is not the real Cereza. Bayonetta is a cartoon, an abstract, a marketing device used to sell perfume and lingerie and magazines, but your girlfriend, Cereza, is a flesh and blood human being! Part of the problem is that you seem to be confusing the two."

"I'm not confused at all, doctor. I understand precisely what happened to Cereza."

"Happened?"

Jeanne sighed deeply. "Cereza and I have known each other since we were children," she began, and, hearing this, Kaufmann bent forward, listening closely. "As you know, we were both born five hundred years ago. We grew up in the Umbra order, an ancient clan of witches. Cereza and I could not have been more different. I was clan royalty. I was destined to inherit the throne of the order. Cereza…Cereza was an outcast. She was born of a forbidden union between a witch and…someone else."

Jeanne grimaced as painful memories washed over her. "She was treated so _wretchedly_. The witches of the order, they were such poisonous, narrow-minded hypocrites. They bullied Cereza, treated her as if she was no better than an animal. That child wanted nothing more than to be accepted, to simply _grow up_ without having scorn and hatred heaped upon her every single day. But those hags made it their mission to ensure that a little child's life was as miserable and unhappy as possible."

"I was Cereza's best friend. I was her _only_ friend. I was the only one in that clan that knew her heart. I was the only one who knew what goodness there was inside her. I alone knew what a wonderful, smart, caring, kind, generous soul she was. All of my youth, the sisters kept teaching me what an honour it was to be an Umbra Witch – but truly, I knew that the true honour was to have that precious girl as my childhood friend."

Jeanne threw up a hand. "And then lots of things happened. Cereza almost died, I sealed her in a coffin for five hundred years, and when I found her again she had transformed into the monster that I'm paying you to cure."

"I see," said Kaufmann. He was silent for a moment, and then: "I wasn't aware you two were childhood sweethearts."

"Well, we never became lovers until this year. I've always been willing to die for her, however."

"Right." Kaufmann fiddled with his pen for a moment. "What was Cereza like as a young woman? Just before she was 'sealed away'?"

"Brave. Noble. Intelligent. But above all resilient. Those crones tried to break her spirit," and here Jeanne gave a smirk. "They were so _angry_ when they saw what a proud, glorious woman Cereza grew to be."

"Would you describe the present-day Cereza as 'proud' and 'glorious'?"

Jeanne shook her head, ruefully. "The words that spring to mind when I think of my Cereza now are 'disappointing', 'wasted' and 'potential'."

"Those are some…strong words, Jeanne."

Jeanne shrugged. "Cereza could be anything she wants. A powerful leader. A hero. An inspiration to so many others."

"People have different priorities, Jeanne! What if Cereza just wants to enjoy life? So long as she's faithful to you, and respects your feelings, what's the problem with lowering your ambitions?"

Jeanne smiled tolerantly. "I'm a teacher. Never accept 'adequate' from a person when they're capable of so much more. My students will tell you I'm a slave-driver, but they'll think differently when they're older and they realize that I rescued them from a life behind the counter in filthy fast-food restaurants."

Jeanne grew wistful. "Doctor, you never knew the Cereza that I grew up with. You never beheld her in person. You don't know how brilliant she was, how brilliant she could still be. She could achieve _anything_. Instead, she models sexy underwear and exotic fragrances. And goes out at night and drinks herself into oblivion while her girlfriend waits at home and hopes that she is safe."

Jeanne shook her head, despairingly. "What became of you, Cereza? If only I was there with you when you needed me. Perhaps you wouldn't have turned out the way you are now."

She looked at Kaufmann. "Can you fix her?" she asked.

"Fix her?"

"When Cereza woke up after her long sleep, it took me twenty years to find her. Something happened in that time, something that reduced her to a shell of herself." Jeanne pressed forward, and Kaufmann thought he could perceive an urgent desperation in her eyes. "You have to help her. She's not happy, the way things are. She _can't_ be happy. The old Cereza is still in there, somewhere. We have to get her back to her old self. I want my dearest friend back. I want my Cereza back."

[][][][][][][][][]

"Cereza, do you want to be with Jeanne?"

Cereza rolled her eyes. "Now that's a silly question to ask, isn't it? _Of course_ I want to be with Jeanne! Why else would I put up with her incessant nagging? Why else would I agree to go to these ridiculous meetings? Do you think I come here so you can poke your nose into my sex life, doctor? I agreed to come here, hoping that it would allow me a little respite from my girlfriend's constant moaning. Instead, ever since she started attending the couples' sessions – another one of your bright ideas, doctor – she's been even more critical than usual."

Doctor Kaufmann tilted his head. "So, you're happy in your relationship with Jeanne, then?"

"Doctor, look at me. I mean, _look at me_." Kauffman complied, and Cereza twisted herself onto her belly and stretched across the couch. Gazing at him with a contemptuous smirk, she arched her back, thrusting her buttocks into the air and accentuating every curve in her body. It was a maneuver clearly rehearsed many times before; _well_, thought Kaufmann, _she is a model, after all_.

"If I were to leave Jeanne, do you think I'd have trouble finding another lover? Hmmm? Look at me, I'm sex on fucking legs. If my relationship with Jeanne wasn't entirely to my satisfaction, I'd hardly have any difficulty _upgrading_, now would I?"

"That's not really what we're talking about, Cereza."

"Oh?" she said, returning to her original seated position.

"Cereza, I'm going to level with you. My job is to help fix relationships. People walk into this office with dysfunctional marriages, broken relationships, wildly different personalities that can never be reconciled, and they expect me to just fix things for them. The most I can do is…give them a little push in the right direction. But to tell you the truth, most of the relationships that I work with in this job – they can't be fixed. Some people just aren't meant to be together. Some people can't exist together, it's just not possible. I'm beginning to wonder whether you and Jeanne fit into that category, Cereza."

"Are you telling me that my relationship with Jeanne is _doomed_, doctor?" Cereza gave a highly theatrical, highly sardonic gasp. "Oh, Jeanne will be _heartbroken_! I'm going to have to go home and tell her we're not to be! Goodness, this is going to be painful to watch! Oh, the tears, the agony! And she was so _sure_ that you'd be able to help us, doctor! Oh, well, silver linings and all that. At least I won't have to go to these fucking therapy sessions any more…"

"Cereza, I'm serious. Do you want to be with Jeanne?"

"Are you even listening to me, doctor? I already told you, _of course_ I want to be with Jeanne."

"Well, then, let me share with you another little insight I picked up in my years of service to the cause of psychotherapy." He fixed his eyes on her. "Everyone always wants to be the good guy. When a relationship fails, people always want to say that it wasn't their fault, that the blame was on the other side. People always want to say that they were the reasonable ones, that they gave the relationship their all, and that the relationship failed because of the other. Cereza, I think you're trying to force Jeanne to leave you."

Cereza stared at Kaufmann, her mouth agape, and then laughed disbelievingly. "What?" she scoffed. "Why on earth would I do _that_, Mister Psychotherapist?"

"Because you want her to leave you. Because you want to blame her for the relationship coming to an end. Because when you and Jeanne break up and people ask, 'what happened?', you want to tell them that you tried your best, but Jeanne didn't want to be with you anymore."

"Doctor, are you suggesting that I've too much of a _coward_ to dump Jeanne?" Cereza leaned forward, glaring at this insolent shrink. "I've dumped dozens of lovers in the past, you know. I've had quite a lot of practice, actually; I can make it painless or agonizing, depending on my mood. If I wanted to get rid of Jeanne, _I would_. I would tell her that it was over, to her face, and I certainly wouldn't play any silly games about it, as you're insinuating."

She shook her head in disbelief, as if she had been dealt an unforgivable insult. "Wait a minute, wait a minute, are you _trying_ to pissme off, doctor? Are you honestly telling me that I'm too scared to leave Jeanne? I'm a witch! I fight angels! I went into space! I punched God into the sun! I'm scared of nothing, least of all hurting Jeanne's feelings!"

"I think we've established that you're not afraid of hurting Jeanne's feelings, Cereza."

Deflating, Cereza sank back into her seat. "Yes, well…"

"It's sort of the reason you're here."

"If you say so."

"Cereza, in the past, have you ever been in a relationship as serious as this relationship with Jeanne?"

"Yes, I have."

"Remember now, I'm your therapist. If you lie to me, it's only going to come back to bite you on the ass."

Cereza scowled angrily. Her next words came out in an almost robotic tone. "No. No-I-have-never-been-in-a-relationship-as-serious-as-my-relationship-with-Jeanne."

"Okay, okay, now we're getting somewhere. Now, you told me that you were five hundred years old, isn't that right?"

She sighed. "Yes, but I spent the great majority of those years having the world's longest beauty sleep. Which probably explains why my skin is always so full and delicious. Did I ever mention that I have I have an eight-figure contract with Nivea?"

"When did you wake up from this 'beauty sleep'?"

"Twenty years ago."

"Twenty years ago, and would I be right in saying that during those twenty years, you indulged in a lot of meaningless, casual sexual relationships?"

"Oh, you don't know the half of it!" she chortled, but then her face grew grim. "It was fun at the time, but then no sooner do I save the world than two dozen of my former paramours are lining up to sell their stories to those tabloid rags. Ugh. Parasites."

"Well, let's not lose track of what's important, here." Kaufmann pushed out of his seat, and began pacing back and forth across the room. "See if this fits: for twenty years, you live the high life, indulging in empty, insignificant, no-strings-attached sex with strangers, treating yourself to one sexual conquest after another. It's fun, it's exciting, it helps you kill time, but deep down, you know how shallow your life is. Deep down, you know how unfulfilling all this sleeping around is. You begin to wonder if you'll ever find something more substantial. You begin to wonder if you'll find something more meaningful."

As he spoke, Kaufmann began motioning with his hands to emphasize the ideas that he was trying to communicate. After a while, Cereza began mimicking him, wildly gesticulating as she sat back on the couch. He ignored her.

"Suddenly, after all those years of cold, anonymous sex, Jeanne enters the picture! Now you're in a real relationship. For the first time, you're in love with someone. And it's everything you imagined; there's feelings, and romance, and stability. You've found someone who satisfies you emotionally, intellectually, physically and spiritually. And you realize that you don't need the superficial things in life, anymore. You don't need one-night stands. You don't need to wake up beside strangers. You've found your _partner_, your mate, someone that maybe, just maybe, you could grow old with."

"But there's a problem. There's a problem that's gnawing at you. What that problem is, we'll get to later. But the bottom line is, eventually, this relationship begins to _suffocate_ you. You love this woman, she makes you happy and secure, but there's something _off_ about the whole situation, and you need to get out. You need to end this relationship."

"But if you do end this relationship, and you walk away from Jeanne, what do you have left? What is there to go back to? You think about this, and the answer is pretty obvious. You'll go back to your old life. You'll go back to having numb, hollow sex with people in bars and nightclubs. You'll go back to getting drunk in grimy, seedy drinking holes."

"In other words, Cereza, you know that if you abandon Jeanne, and if you go back to your old life, you'll have _failed_ at…something. You'll have failed at trying to live in the real world. You'll have failed at building a life with someone. You'll have failed to prove that you're a substantial human being. You'll have failed to prove that there's more to you than luscious lips and long legs and a plump ass."

"This is why you're unable to dump Jeanne. This is why she has to be the one to abandon you. You _need_ Jeanne to be the bad guy. You need Jeanne to be the one that ends the relationship. If Jeanne is one that leaves, then it's not your fault. You _tried_ to make things work between the two of you, but she wasn't willing. Not your fault. You're a good girlfriend. You'll find someone else. You're not the shallow person you used to be. You're going to lead a happy, rewarding life."

"You need Jeanne to break up with you. And how do you go about accomplishing this? You begin to act up. You stagger home drunk at three or four in the morning. You flirt with other men and women in front of her. You get yourself into fights. You embarrass her publicly. Every night, she sits at home, worried, wondering if you're safe, if you're okay. And you're out there somewhere, wondering what her breaking point is. You wonder: what will it take to push her over the edge? What will I have to do before she can't take any more?"

"You've told me several times that Jeanne tries to change who you are. That she can't accept you for who you are. It's a very convenient narrative, isn't it? When Jeanne has finally had enough, and leaves you, people will ask why. And you can tell them: she tried to control me. She didn't love me for who I was."

Kaufmann lowered himself back into his chair. "Jeanne deserves to be treated better than this, Cereza. You're torturing her, and she doesn't even understand why. Why should she suffer, just because you don't have the courage to confront the truth?"

Cereza was staring impassively at the floor. She raised hesitant eyes to the doctor, and cleared her throat.

"Could you repeat all that?" she said. "My mind sort of wandered."

**Never been to counselling, and I have done very little research into therapy, so I have no idea if Kaufmann's methods are realistic. Then again, who's looking for realism in a series about witches with guns on their feet?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Two**

**Chapter 3**

**Disclaimer: Bayonetta and Jeanne were created by and are the intellectual property of Platinum Games. No copyright infringement intended.**

Jeanne took a deep breath. "At times, it probably seems that I treat you as though I'm your mother. And _before_ you make some tasteless joke about incest, or sagging boobs, or, or breastfeeding, Cereza – I recognize that you find that unattractive. I know that it's a turn-off when I act as if you're a child. You have to understand, I do think of us as equals. I don't think you're a little girl. I don't believe that you need me to look after you, although I very much enjoy the times when I do have to care for you."

At first glance, the scene in Kaufmann's office seemed peaceful enough. The doctor was sitting in his chair, facing the clients, as usual. Cereza and Jeanne were sat on the couch by the wall, talking quietly.

"I know that I nag a lot, Cereza, but I do it because I _care_ about you. I demanded that we go to therapy because I care about you. Is that really so bad? Is it really so awful that I want you to be safe? It's bad enough that we have to fight angels every day. When you put yourself in these other situations, you make me worry about you. And I worry _so much_. When you go out to get drunk, you know that I'm going to be scared sick about you. Does that not _bother_ you? Does it really mean so little to you that someone cares about you?"

Jeanne sighed. "I really feel like you're making fun of me, sometimes. I put so much feeling into this, and you still go out and do things that you know will scare me, you know will offend me. It's feels like you want to just twist me apart like a plaything."

All eyes turned to the woman sitting on the other end of the couch, and Cereza readied herself to speak. A gloved finger pushed black spectacles onto a more snug position on her nose, and, cautiously, she began:

"I've been thinking, a lot, about all the things we've talked about in our little sessions in this office. And I think it's time we started discussing the thing that really matters. I think we've been skirting around the important issue, for too long, now."

"What do you think is the important issue, Cereza?" said Kaufmann.

As if looking for moral support, Cereza looked across the couch to Jeanne. Jeanne nodded keenly, expectation clear on her face. Cereza turned to Kaufmann with a resolute expression, and announced:

"We need to talk about our sex life."

"_Oh, for the love of Nyx, Cereza!"_ cried Jeanne, exasperated.

"Doctor, I think the source of all our problems is sex. Freud said everything boils down to sex, and he was a genius, so it would probably be a good idea if we described to you every single aspect of our sex life in minute detail, and maybe then you could unravel this problem."

"No! It's nothing to do with sex! Doctor Kaufmann doesn't want to know!"

"Of course he does. How else will he help us get better?"

"You're doing it again, Cereza! She's doing it again, doctor! She always does this! She's just trying to get a rise out of people! She's trying to antagonize me, and she's succeeding!"

"Nonsense. Here we go, doctor. You see, the thing about Jeanne is, she's afraid of asking for what she wants. Jeanne just _loves_ it when I place my finger – "

"_No!"_ As Kaufmann watched, Jeanne lunged screaming across the couch, and tried to smother Cereza's mouth with her hand. Laughing, Cereza pushed the hand aside, and attempted to continue.

"We have a supply of baby oil in the bedside cabinet that we have to make sure is _constantly_ stocked – "

"_Stop it!"_

Kaufmann observed for a while as Jeanne and Cereza struggled together on the couch, the former trying to restrain the latter and prevent her from speaking, the latter attempting to free herself from the former and reveal her deepest, most scandalous secrets. Eventually, Kaufmann reached to his right, and picked up the notebook that lay on the table at his side. As his patients fought with each other before him, he flipped to a blank page and began to write:

_The problem that we face is twofold. Firstly, Patient #1 feels burdened by expectations that Patient #2 has of her, and as a result finds the relationship overwhelming and oppressive._

"She can't ask outright, so she has to give hints and suggestions, and I have to work out what it is she wants me to do to her. It can be very frustrating when I'm all hot and bothered, and I have to go to the trouble of decrypting whatever requests she makes before we can get on with it. Last weekend, for example, she wanted me to put my entire – "

"Be quiet! This is a violation of my privacy!"

_Patient #1 subconsciously wishes to escape relationship with Patient #2, and seeks to accomplish this by 'poisoning' the relationship, to such an extent that Patient #2 is eventually unwilling to remain._

"It's very difficult to accomplish. My fingers were so tired…"

"Doctor, please! Tell her that you don't need to hear this!"

_For her part, Patient #2 has fostered an utterly unrealistic idealization of Patient #1. Patient #1 suffers from probable self-esteem issues as a result of falling so short of this idealization, although she cloaks her feelings of inadequacy with a highly artificial, and highly unconvincing, façade, that of an uncaring thrill seeker – Bayonetta. _

"We had to throw a plastic wrap over the entire patio – "

"Just because you don't care about your dignity doesn't mean you can throw away mine!"

_Attempts to encourage Patient #1 to confront this inadequacy are constantly, and irritatingly, thwarted by this irreverent, and highly juvenile, Bayonetta persona. In order for any progress to be made, this persona must be bypassed._

"She was very dubious at first, it took me hours to convince her, but once I demonstrated, she wanted to do it twice a day – "

"What have I done to deserve this? Why are you punishing me like this?"

()()()()()()()()()

The next day, Cereza was scheduled for a one-on-one session with her therapist. "There's something we haven't yet touched on," said Kaufmann, "and I think we should talk about it today. Cereza, why don't you tell me about your childhood?"

Cereza raised a suspicious (and immaculately plucked) eyebrow. "My childhood? It was five hundred years ago..."

"Didn't you say you spent most of those five hundred years sleeping? In a metal casket at the bottom of a lake? Your childhood wasn't that long ago at all, when you think about it."

"Well, what does my childhood have to do with my present day troubles?"

"I'm all about finding different perspectives, Cereza, you know that by now! If we examine your childhood, perhaps we'll catch something we've missed."

Suddenly, it seemed as if Cereza had an unexpected realization, and as Kaufmann watched, the confusion on her face was slowly overcome by an expression of disgust. "You…" she muttered, her voice dripping with contempt. "You're a _fucking Freudian_!"

"I beg your pardon?" said Kaufmann, momentarily nonplussed.

"You think that if you delve into my childhood that you can just magically fix everything! And there I was thinking that you were actually a _proper_ psychiatrist. Didn't you know Freud was discredited years ago?" She tut-tutted in disappointment, and went on: "So, _this_ is what you and Jeanne have been talking about in your little one-on-one sessions. Did she tell you about when I was a little girl, doctor? Did she tell you about how I was the little black sheep, hmmm?"

"I can't really tell you what Jeanne and I spoke about in private, Cereza. Doctor-patient confidentiality…"

"Oh, shove a stocking in it. I know _well_ what you two were talking about. Jeanne can't accept that I am the way I am. She isn't happy with the fact that I live life to its fullest. She isn't happy with the fact that I'm not ashamed of my own body. And she's convinced herself that I am this way because I'm somehow _damaged._ She thinks that I live my life the way I do because I'm _traumatized_. It doesn't even occur to her that I am this way because…oh, I don't know, because it makes me _happy_?"

An angry red lollipop was jabbed in Kaufmann's direction. "And _you've_ been helping her to believe this nonsense. That's what you've been talking about together, isn't it? _Oooh, Jeanne, you mustn't blame Cereza for embarrassing you and acting like a rampant slut. It's not her fault she acts this way, she had such a difficult life._"

"If you're afraid that we're ganging up on you, Cereza, I can assure you…"

"Ganging up on me? Jeanne would _never_ betray me. Unless she were brainwashed. Now that you mention it, I should warn her not to let you hypnotize her." Cereza pondered this for a moment, and then hurriedly shook her head. "Never mind! The important thing is that you understand _this_, doctor. When I lived like a harlot, all those years ago, it wasn't because I was reeling from a hard childhood. It was because I liked having sex. When I go out on the town and get roasted, it's not because I'm mentally damaged, it's because I enjoy alcohol. When I take my clothes off for magazines, it's not because I'm emotionally hurt, it's because I like making money. Understand?"

"I understand. I'm not trying to suggest that you need to be changed, Cereza."

"_Good._ Now if only I could get that little morsel of truth into Jeanne's thick skull…" Cereza shoved the lollipop back into her mouth and began sucking angrily.

"Do you think Jeanne sent you to therapy so that I would _change_ you?"

"Well, _obviously_!" she replied, her voice distorted as her tongue worked its way around the chunk of delicious candy. "She wants a fucking Stepford Wife!"

"Well, I think most therapists realize that not being true to oneself is a disastrous idea in relationships. I'm not trying to make you into a different person, Cereza. I want you to be yourself."

"Bully for you."

"Now that we've got that settled…let's talk about your childhood."

Cereza rolled her eyes and gave a melodramatic sigh. "What does my childhood have to do with anything, doctor?"

"I told you, I'd like to see things from a different viewpoint."

"Jeanne already told you about when we were girls, didn't she?"

"In _your_ words, Cereza."

"Ugh." Cereza yanked the lollipop stick from her mouth, and flicked it carelessly across the room. It bounced off a lampshade, rebounded off the surface of a glass cabinet, and landed perfectly at the bottom of a waste bin. "I grew up in the Umbra Clan. There were a lot of witches. They were all cunts."

"Why were they cunts, Cereza?"

Cereza's eyes darted around the floor. Kaufmann noted that her lips were pressed tighly together, and her fists had suddenly become clenched. He tried to prompt her: "Did they mistreat you, Cereza?"

Her face twitched. When she spoke, her voice was weaker than he had ever heard before: "This has no relevance to my relationship with Jeanne. At all."

"I think it's important."

Cereza glared at a corner of the room, and then said: "My mother, Rosa, had the inspired idea of allowing a Lumen Sage – a wizard – to seduce her. I was the result. I was an illegitimate child. The fruit of a forbidden union. They told me that I was of impure blood, and they would never, ever let me forget it."

"Was your mother not able to take you away from all that?"

"They allowed my mother no choice in the matter. So much for _'love conquers all'_." Cereza was silent for a moment, and then smiled grimly. "Would you like to know the most painful memory that I have? I was a child, and children are always _so eager to please_. I tried so hard to impress them, to show them what a good girl I was. I thought if I proved myself to them, they would include me in their delightful little tea parties, and let me join them as they gossiped and tattled. Oh, children are so _naïve._"

"That must have been very difficult for you."

She shrugged. "They got what they deserved."

"Did they?"

"Oh yes. Did I not tell you before, doctor? All witches are required to kill angels, every day of their lives. If they don't, they get dragged down to hell for eternity." Cereza leaned forward, and Kaufmann felt a shiver of unease as she gazed at him. "Have you noticed any witches about, doctor? Have you heard any news about witches hunting angels, apart from myself and Jeanne? Hmmm? I wonder where they all went…"

"They...they're in hell?" guessed Kaufmann. "All of the witches are in hell?"

Cereza smiled sweetly, and settled back into the couch. "Whenever I start to feel sorry for myself, I just need to remember: I am an internationally renowned model, with millions of fans, heaps of money in the bank, a top-tier body and a goddess for a girlfriend, and _they_…." Cereza extended her arm forward and pointed down, down through the floor, down past the basement, the foundations, the earth itself. "_They_ are all in Inferno. Forever. Can you imagine how ghastly they all look, by now? All those centuries without moisturizer, or face packs, or exfoliating, or vitamin D. The acne must be _dreadful…_"

"You find comfort in the fact that the Umbra Witches are being tormented in hell for all of eternity?" asked Kaufmann.

"I think it's _hilarious_ that they've been there all this time, and no one has tried to save them. If only they'd been a little bit nicer to me…Jeanne and I are different, of course. If one of us falls, the other will be marching straight into Inferno to bring the other back."

"Well, I'm glad you can rely on each other," said Kaufmann. "Always a sign of a healthy relationship…"


	4. Chapter 4

**Two**

**Chapter 4**

**Disclaimer: Bayonetta and Jeanne were created by and are the intellectual property of Platinum Games. No copyright infringement intended.**

Kaufmann knew that, out of all of Cereza's various self-destructive tendencies, her binge drinking was the one that would be most to blame for destroying her relationship with Jeanne. It was a complicated situation, one that would not be easily resolved, and so for the time being, he felt it would be easier to tackle a less challenging problem. Jeanne and Cereza arrived for their session at the usual time, and Kaufmann decided to ask Jeanne about one of her other great peeves.

"Jeanne, why do you object so strongly to Cereza's modeling?"

Jeanne replied: "She is capable of such greater things! Cereza is an Umbra Witch, just as I am! She has _so much power _within her, doctor. She could be a renowned hero! She could inspire all of humanity!"

"I inspire _plenty_ of people!" Cereza protested from her side of the couch. "Hormonal males, mostly. They find me very inspiring…"

"Think of how much a better place the world would be if Cereza put her energy towards her true potential. It's been two years since you defeated Jubileus, Cereza. What have you done since then?"

"What have I done since _saving the world?_ Oh, I _am_ sorry. I assumed that saving the human species entitled me to relax for a little while. My mistake."

"She could be fighting crime, injustice, tyranny. Instead, she takes her clothes off and promotes fragrances and lingerie. How could _anyone_ be content with that sort of life, when you _know_ you could be doing more?"

"Cereza, are you content with your life?" prompted Kaufmann.

A wistful expression passed over Cereza's face. "Sometimes, when I'm walking about the house, I do wonder if there's more to life than fashion and materialism. I begin to ask myself whether I'm depriving myself of something more meaningful." She pondered this for a moment. "And then I trip over one of those big piles of money I have lying around, and I lose my train of thought."

"Well, Cereza, you like the money, and you seem to like the job," said Kaufmann. "Jeanne, should you not just be glad that Cereza has a line of work she enjoys?"

Jeanne shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I can't understand how someone would enjoy being treated like a piece of flesh! If you're so determined to be a model, Cereza, why can't you just do _classy_ photo shoots? Your fashion shoots, those are nice. Very elegant. You look very sophisticated and intelligent with your spectacles and your suits. You don't need to do lingerie modeling or nude modeling. You don't need to objectify yourself. Does it not bother you that, every time you have a conversation with someone, that person has probably seen images of you in the nude? Do you not care what people think about you?"

"Of course I care about what people think about me, that's why I do it! My fans love my raunchier stuff! Imagine how they would feel if I stopped. They'd think I've forgotten about them!"

"Is it _that_ important to you, what your fans think, Cereza?" asked Kaufmann.

"I'm very protective of my fans, doctor, I'll have you know. _Jeanne,_ _don't roll your eyes like that!"_

"Your 'fans' don't care about you, Cereza!"

"That is not true at all. I get bundles of letters every week from all over the globe – "

"Yes, and most of those letters are from men telling you how much they want to bend you at a right angle!"

"That is not true! I get all sorts of letters! Little girls write to me, telling me how much they admire me! Women write to me to say how much I inspire them! And all of this despite _certain people_ gabbling on all the time about how I somehow _demean women_."

"You _do_ demean women!" barked Jeanne. "After you defeated Jubileus, you could have been a hero to _billions_ of people. Instead, you made the, frankly, _baffling_ decision to become a porn model!"

"It's not fucking porn! I'm a _supermodel!_ I'm the biggest supermodel in history!"

"You're a _joke!"_

Cereza gaped in astonishment. "A_ what?"_

"Now, hold on a minute, Jeanne," said Kaufmann. "You just called your partner a _joke._ I think maybe we should take a time out, let passions cool down a little…"

Jeanne ignored him, and went on: "You could have been an inspiration to the entire world! Instead, the entire world knows what you look like when you're naked. The entire world has seen you falling into street gutters, drunk. When you saved the earth, the human race was ready to accept you as an example, a paradigm. Now, the only people who look up to you are men who drool over your images, and women who know no better. Well done, you're clearly very proud of yourself."

Jeanne shook her head disbelievingly, as if astounded by her partner's stupidity. "What do you expect would happen if you suddenly put on a lot of weight, Cereza, hmmm? Your cherished fans would lose interest in you, and move onto some other, thinner, starlet. What would happen if – Nyx forbid – you were in an accident, and you lost your looks? They wouldn't care about you, then, would they? They'd find some other pretty little thing to fixate on."

Kaufmann noticed Cereza's chest rising and falling more and more rapidly. _The Point Of No Return, _he thought to himself._ Well, it was nice while it lasted. _

"Your _legions of admirers_ don't give a damn about the real you, Cereza. They're only interested in your chest, your legs, and your posterior." Jeanne laughed derisively. "And you actually believe that, when people see you with your arse hanging out in magazines, they actually respect and idolize you? You already had respect, Cereza, and then you threw it away. You used to be a saviour, and now you're an amusement, a celebrity distraction. Why you chose to be this way, I'll never understand…"

Jeanne waved her hand dismissively, and folded her arms. She sank back into the couch, and fixed her eyes on some irrelevant object in Kaufmann's office.

Kaufmann turned his gaze to Cereza. She was glaring at nothing. Her lips were pressed together. Her chest was rising and falling. Her fingernails were digging into her knees. Kaufmann squinted, and noticed that her jaw was quivering slightly.

Eventually, Cereza emerged from whatever deep trance she had become engulfed within. She glanced around, and seemed to realize that it was up to her to allow the session to further proceed. When she finally spoke, her voice was just a whisper.

"I'm finished."

Jeanne turned to her from the far side of the couch. "I beg your pardon?" she asked.

Cereza looked at her. She was breathing unsteadily through her nose, and her head seemed to be bobbing about strangely. "I'm finished," she repeated, her voice slightly louder.

Jeanne's brow creased in confusion. "You're finished? What do you mean? I don't understand."

Cereza tilted her head towards Kaufmann. "The doctor figured it out weeks ago. I want out of this relationship, but I wanted you to be the one that dumped me. You haven't, so I'm taking matters into my own hands. We're through."

Jeanne gawped cluelessly at Kaufmann, and was met with stony impassiveness. She looked back at Cereza, her eyes wide and questioning. "What?" she asked.

()()()()()()()

Cereza stormed out the door of Kaufmann's office. Her gait lacked any hint of her customary elegance and poise. Jeanne came scurrying behind.

"W-was I too frank? If I was, I apologize. I apologize. _I mean it,_ Cereza, I'm sorry. Are you angry, my love? I…I'm not sure why you're angry. What exactly did I say that was so hurtful? I'm not being sarcastic, I really want to know. Truly. Cereza? Cereza? Cereza?"

Cereza strode down the corridor, marching towards the elevator door. Jeanne hovered behind her.

"For Nyx's sake, Cereza, will you just give me some time! I'm trying, I'm trying to make sense of all this! I know I've offended you, I'm just trying to figure out exactly what it was I said that hurt you. I just need a minute to think of the proper, uh, apology, and I'm sorry if I said something that hurt you, it's just, I can't _think_ if you won't stop walking, can we please just sit down and talk about this?"

Cereza prodded the button, and because the world was arranged in such a way as to make her seem effortlessly stylish and cool, the elevator was waiting for her at that very moment, on that very floor. The doors opened, and Cereza sauntered in. Jeanne pushed in after her, the doors ramming her sides as they slid shut again. Cereza pushed the button for the ground floor, and the elevator began to descend.

"Cereza, I'm sorry if my temper got the better of me. I was just upset, and I probably said something that I shouldn't have. I'm not, I just had a slip, I wouldn't normally…"

The elevator passed the third floor.

"You know I would never intentionally hurt you. I'm sorry. If you could just explain what it was that I said that upset you so much, you might feel better…"

The elevator passed the second floor.

"I didn't mean anything malicious. I think perhaps you may have misunderstood something that I said? You know that you mean the world to me…"

The elevator reached the ground floor, and the doors opened. Cereza stalked out into the lobby, and headed towards the exit. Jeanne hurried after her.

"I don't, you think, you seem to have the idea that I look down on you. I don't. I don't. I'm sorry if I ever give that impression, that's just the way I am. I know I come across as arrogant sometimes, but you must know that I idolize you, Cereza. Cereza? I'm not sure I really believed those things I said in that office, I, they were more ideas that I was just trying to make sense of…"

Cereza barged through the main doors of the building, and started walking across the car park. The doors caught Jeanne as she tried to slip through, and she pushed them aside.

"Did Doctor Kaufmann say something about you not wanting to…I didn't understand what he said. What did you mean when you said that? Cereza? Cereza? We both wanted…"

Jeanne's voice cracked. As she spoke, she became more and more shrill, attracting the attention of others in the car park.

"You bitch. You fucking bitch. I put everything into this relationship. _I put everything into this relationship._ I stayed up until three in the morning, wondering when you were going to come home, and all the time trying not to think about all these horrible possibilities whirling about in my mind. I have these _videos_ playing in my head about all the people you've fucked, and I can't stop them from playing all the time, even though they make me feel like vomiting until I'm empty. My, my, my friends laugh at me behind my back, because Bayonetta throws her clothes off and drinks herself into oblivion every night and her stupid girlfriend is such a fool that she just suffers it. Is this a joke to you? Did you ever wonder how much you were hurting me? Does it ever bother you how sick you always make me feel?"

They reached the car. Cereza spun around on her heel, and faced Jeanne. Jeanne stared at her, bleary-eyed.

"Jeanne, dearest, allow me to tell you a quick story. Picture this: a little girl is born into the world, and from the very moment that she is born, she is treated like vermin. Her so-called sisters call her all sorts of awful names, such as 'impure', 'tainted', 'rotten', and 'unnatural'."

"Yes, yes, Cereza, we all know you've had a hard life. What about my life this past year? I…"

"Now, this child has no mother or father, and she _craves approval_. Approval is the one thing that this child wants more than anything else in the world, she hungers for it, she yearns for it. She tries to impress her sisters, and she attempts to do this by studying and training very hard. Unfortunately, the girl's sisters had already decided that they would hate and despise the girl from the moment of her birth, and so her attempts to gain their admiration are ruthlessly shot down…"

"The young girl becomes a young woman. Suddenly, the young woman is surrounded by other young people. They all want to get into bed with this young woman, and so they flatter her, and pay her compliments, and tell her what a wonderful, pretty, clever, talented, irresistible woman she is. Now, remember, this woman craves approval, so you can imagine how all this praise and admiration makes her feel…"

"Several years later, the young woman destroys a naughty god, and saves the world. Now, _everyone_ wants to be this woman's friend! They talk about her on the news, and write articles about her in magazines, and marvel at what a strong and brave person she is. The young woman is very flattered indeed. However, at the same time, she is…a little uneasy. The people want her to be their hero, but she _knows_ that she's not a hero, and so instead of wasting time kissing babies and shaking hands, she decides to continue living her life the way she sees fit. The young woman becomes a model and a celebrity. She earns mountains of money. Paparazzi follow her all over the place. It's a lot of fun, and she wouldn't have it any other way."

"I know that men only like me for my looks, Jeanne. I know that they're only interested in me because of my big boobs and long legs and pretty face. And I know that a lot less women would admire me if I was pug-ugly, no matter how strong and independent I am. But at least they're honest about why they like me. That little girl wanted nothing more than to be _encouraged_. She just wanted people to tell her that she was a good girl and that she was pretty and blah blah blah. I've achieved my _dream_, Jeanne. Did that never occur to you? If you belittle my hopes and aspirations, how on earth can you expect me to accept you as my other half?"

"Your dream?" asked Jeanne. She made an effort to sound mocking, but her voice was broken and ravaged, which somewhat ruined the effect. "You're a Sister of the Umbra Order, and your dream is to sell clothes and perfume, and to have teenage boys drooling over you?"

"Ugh," said Cereza, rolling her eyes. "You'll never understand, Jeanne."

"What does alcoholism have to do with your dream, Cereza?"

Cereza peered contemplatively upwards. "I do drink a bit much, now that you mention it. I really should do something about it, soon…"

As Jeanne stood and watched, Cereza began fishing about in her pockets, finally pulling out the keys to the car. "Hmmm," she said. "A car journey together would be rather awkward now, wouldn't you agree? I think I'd prefer to take the _bus_."

Cereza tossed the bundle of keys to Jeanne. Walking towards the car park exit, she called over her shoulder:

"Feel free to pack all my shit into some boxes. I'll have Cheshire come round and pick it up."


	5. Chapter 5

**Two**

**Chapter 5**

**Disclaimer: Bayonetta and Jeanne were created by and are the intellectual property of Platinum Games. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Yes, the rating has been bounced up to M. We all know what that means! Witch-on-Witch action. If such a thing offends you, there's such a thing as the back button.**

"It wasn't enough for Cereza that she left me," said Jeanne, her face grim. "It wasn't cruel enough that she abandoned me, after all I had done for her. She had to taunt me, as well. Cereza couldn't resist twisting the knife in my heart. She couldn't resist adding insult to injury. Would you like me to tell you how Cereza has been mocking me, doctor? Would you like to know what Cereza has been doing, these past few weeks?"

_Oh, boy,_ thought Kaufmann. _I can take a fairly good guess. I knew this wasn't going to be pretty. Cereza is reeling from a bad break-up, and to cope with her grief, she's found herself some young thing. A rebound lover. It figures that Cereza would try to make her ex jealous. It wouldn't surprise me if she's been constantly contacting Jeanne to tell her how much fun she's having without her. She's probably sent her pictures of her new boyfriend or girlfriend, all to rub a little salt in the wound._

"What has Cereza been doing, Jeanne?" he asked softly.

Jeanne's face twisted in anguish. "She…she goes to bed at ten o'clock every night. She has started eating properly. She exercises regularly. And worst of all, she, she…" For a moment, Jeanne was unable to continue. She mustered her resolve, and managed to speak: "She hardly drinks anymore."

Kaufmann stared at his patient, nonplussed. "And this bothers you, because…"

"She is behaving _exactly_ the way I wanted her to when we were together!" she cried. "She's _taunting_ me, doctor! When we were a couple, I asked her over and over to try to cut back on her drinking, and she took this as encouragement to be even more of a lush! Now that we're no longer together, she suddenly becomes a _teetotaler?_ When I was her girlfriend, I asked her, _begged_ her, to be more responsible, and to take better care of herself, and she would just act like even more of a child! Now that we've broken up, she suddenly decides to practice healthy living!"

"Cereza is just trying to live her life in a sensible way, Jeanne," said Kaufmann.

"Yes, and she's doing it to _spite me!"_

"Now that Cereza no longer feels constricted by her relationship with you, it's likely she doesn't feel the need to behave so self-destructively, anymore."

"The need? _The need?_ Simply because I was her girlfriend, Cereza was so miserable that she felt the need to waterboard herself with gin every night?"

"Don't take it personally, Jeanne. Cereza has had very little experience with meaningful relationships. You were the first person that she ever allowed to get as close as you did. If she went about things a little unconventionally, it's because she had no points of reference."

At that point, a thought occurred to the doctor. "Wait a minute. You said that Cereza goes to sleep at ten o clock every night?"

"Yes," said Jeanne.

"And she's stopped drinking? And she's exercising?"

"Yes…"

Kaufmann's brow creased in suspicion. "How do you know all this?"

Jeanne waved a dismissive hand. "I was told by my familiars."

"Your familiars…"

"Yes. Cats. Birds. Insects. I commanded them to spy on her for me."

Kaufmann needed a moment to process this new piece of information. "Jeanne, why do feel it's important to spy on your ex-girlfriend?"

"Confirmation," she replied, grandly.

"Confirmation?" echoed Kaufmann.

"That is correct. Confirmation that I was right. For the last year, doctor, I was the only thing keeping Cereza alive. I was the one holding her hair while she was vomiting into the toilet. I was the one carrying her onto the back seat of the car and driving her to hospital when she needed her stomach pumped. I was the one calling every police station for a hundred miles around to make sure she hadn't been abducted or killed. I was the one dragging her off the floor when she was too hammered to hunt angels. When she left me, I knew that was the end for her. Cereza couldn't live without me. Without my guardianship, it was only a matter of time before she ended up destroying herself. I just wanted to see it happen."

Jeanne looked at Kaufmann. Perhaps a tiny drop of appalled horror leaked from Kaufmann's stony facade, because Jeanne's voice rose, and she added: "I _deserved_ it, doctor! You know how much humiliation she put me through! You know how much abuse I suffered! Don't I deserve a little praise for everything I've done?"

"Right," said Kaufmann. "Let's get all this in order. You had your familiars keep an eye on Cereza…"

"Yes."

"You expected her life to fall apart, and you wanted to be there to see it happen…"

"Yes."

"But her life didn't fall apart. She seems to be doing quite well…"

Jeanne looked downcast. "Yes…"

"Do you resent her for this?"

"Of course I resent her! Everything Cereza does is calculated to make me miserable!"

"Hmmmm…" Kaufmann sat back into his chair, and crossed his legs. "Jeanne, mind telling me about your relationship with Cereza five hundred years ago?"

Jeanne seemed momentarily confused by the apparent change of subject, but she indulged him: "Well, Cereza was for all intents and purposes a different person back then. She was very introverted. Very studious. We had a lot of common interests, in those days. We studied together. We sparred together. We were both obsessed with embroidered toys."

"Was Cereza as good at fighting then as she is now?"

"Oh, Nyx, no! She didn't have much in the way of confidence or self-assurance. We have her Sisters to thank for that. She was always doubting herself. Hesitation is death on the field of battle." Jeanne shook her head in dismay. "It wasn't until she awoke in this era that Cereza learned how to really fight. If you were in a fight with Cereza, and she ever landed a blow on you, she would _apologize_. If you get into a fight with Bayonetta, she'll act as though she's a big cat and you're a big ball of string."

"So, Cereza was withdrawn, timid, shrunk back from aggression…you probably used to stand up for her, a lot."

"Oh, naturally! When we were little, she used to follow me around like a loyal puppy. Her Sisters would insult her all the time, and she would just accept their abuse and remain silent. It was usually up to me to supply the withering ripostes." A distant expression washed over Jeanne's face. "Imagine how horrible life would have been for her, if I hadn't been there to protect her. Doesn't bear thinking about, really…"

"Jeanne, Cereza's life _was_ horrible. Her mother was imprisoned, far away from her, and she was mercilessly bullied for years."

"I know that! But at least she had me."

()()()()()()()()

Late that evening, a hand rapped on the door of Jeanne's penthouse. Answering, Jeanne was surprised to see the woman who, until recently, had shared this home with her.

Cereza tried to maintain a disinterested expression. "I've come to collect my stuff," she announced.

Jeanne had packed all of Cereza's possessions into three crates, which were now standing stacked on top of each other against a wall in the entrance hall. Transporting the crates would be a simple matter of opening a portal, depositing the goods in a magical 'vault', and retrieving them whenever they were desired.

"I thought you were going to send the Poodle to pick up your belongings," remarked Jeanne. Cereza had her own nickname for Luka, 'Cheshire', but ever since the Jubileus incident, Cereza had the intrepid reporter wrapped around her little finger, and Jeanne thought that he deserved a moniker more reflective of his being a pathetic, weak-willed, sycophant lapdog.

Cereza was peering around the penthouse for what would probably be the last time. "I decided it was best if I didn't send him. You'd probably think we had become lovers. I wouldn't want you to feel _jealous_."

Jeanne glowered at her. "What?" said Cereza, innocently. "I was being _considerate_."

Cereza lifted the lid off one of the crates, and began rifling through the contents, an assortment of clothes, jewelry, weapons, talismans, Angelic LPs, perfume bottles, shoes, occult fetishes and eldritch symbols; a confusing mishmash of vapid materialism and otherworldly enchantment. As she rummaged deeper, Cereza's began to look confused. "I think some of these belong to you, Jeanne," she said.

"I packed away everything that reminded me of you," replied Jeanne.

"And what if _I_ didn't want any mementos of our time together, either?"

"Then you were free to throw them away." Jeanne turned and went to the lounge area, leaving Cereza to delve on her own.

()()()()()()()()

Half an hour had passed, and Cereza had still not left. She was pacing around the apartment, now, taking the place in as if she had not seen it in over a decade.

"Ugh," said Jeanne, by now on her second glass of wine. "How long do you intend this little visit to last?"

Cereza tilted her head to one side, and regarded Jeanne gravely. "You know, it really isn't in our best interests to be angry with each other. We _are_ Umbra Sisters, you know. What happens if one of us dies? We have to go to Inferno to pull the other out. Have you forgotten our little promise? If there are hard feelings between us…"

"_Hard feelings?"_ said Jeanne, a little shrilly. She was sitting on the leather couch, wine in hand, and although she was speaking with Cereza, she made sure to keep her back to her. "Hard feelings exist between us because I wasted a year of my life trying to save you from yourself!"

"Save me? _Save me?_ The reason that you have sand in your vagina, Jeanne, is that you tried to turn me into someone I'm not. You failed, and you were oh-so offended that I refused to be your perfect little girlfriend."

"I perceived that you could be more than you are, and I tried to encourage you to better yourself, to refuse to accept second-best. But you obviously have different ideas. It's a tragedy that you refuse to embrace your true potential."

"Jeanne, every time you talk about peoples' true potential, what you're actually trying to do is draw attention to how amazingly brilliant _you are_." To illustrate, Cereza slipped into a (not altogether bad, Jeanne grudgingly admitted) impersonation of Jeanne's voice. _"Oh, Cereza, you could be so much more powerful if you studied the arcane lore more. Look at me, I am ever-so studious, and see how powerful I am. Oh, Cereza, you would be so much more elegant and beautiful if you just acted with class and style. Just look at me, I obsessively study fashion to the point of madness, and I'm so chic and trendy. Oh, Cereza, you'd be so much more attractive if you didn't drink so much. Look at me, I have so much restraint and self-control, don't you just wish you could BE me, Cereza!"_

With a loud clink, Jeanne set the wine glass down on the coffee table, and stood to face Cereza. "A year of my life, Cereza. I spent a year of my life chasing after you, thinking you needed me to help you, when all you were doing was trying to drive me away. Why couldn't you just leave me? Why did you have to keep me hanging on your string like that for so long? Did you actually enjoy torturing me? Did you derive pleasure from embarrassing me?"

A hint of a smirk crept into the corner of Cereza's mouth. "Oh, come, now," she said. "I hope you're not implying that the past year was all doom and gloom, Jeanne. We had some good times."

"Yes, there were times I was happy, and I allowed myself to fall in love with you. Now I have to cope with someone I love leaving me."

Cereza ignored her, and continued: "We had some very good times. We shared some very good jokes. We had some very good sex." Her voice fell into a whisper. "No one in the world knows you like I do, Jeanne. Won't you miss that?"

"When I start to miss you, I'll just think of all the ways you played games with my affections."

Cereza sighed dramatically. "I did not play games with you, Jeanne." She pulled her glasses off her nose. "Jeanne, look into my eyes."

Jeanne unenthusiastically complied.

"I. Do. Not. Play. Games. With. Your. Feelings," she stated firmly. She waited a moment, and then: "Were you looking into my eyes when I said that? Do you believe me?"

Jeanne shrugged. "Of course."

Cereza frowned. "No you don't. Did you not see how sincere I was? Perhaps you weren't standing close enough. Come nearer."

"Are you planning on leaving, Cereza?"

"_Come nearer."_

Her anger rising, Jeanne walked around the settee, and glared at Cereza. _How much longer do I have to tolerate this nonsense, Cereza?,_ her eyes seemed to say.

"I. Do. Not. Play. Games. With. Your. Feelings." Cereza looked at Jeanne sideways. "Do you believe me now?"

"Yes, I believe you," she said, irritably. "Now can you please take your luggage and leave?"

"Oh, gosh, it didn't work again!" Cereza growled in frustration. "Can you not see my eyes clearly enough? Maybe we need to be closer still."

Cereza sauntered forward, standing directly in front of Jeanne. It was the closest they had been in weeks.

"Cereza, my patience is quickly…"

"Look into my eyes."

Jeanne met Cereza's gaze, and made no effort to hide the irritation in her face.

"I. Do. Not. Play. Games. With. Your. Feelings."

In some dark corner of her mind, Jeanne recognized that she was being enchanrfduijygkhlfydrhtjykf

Cereza circled her arms around Jeanne's neck, and pulled the woman closer. A torrent of familiar memories that Jeanne had recently repressed came rushing back. The mole just below Cereza's mouth. The perfume that she always, always wore; Azoth, her own personal brand. Annoyance and resentment gave way to alarm and confusion. "What are you doing?"

Cereza looked at Jeanne, and wordlessly demanded her gaze.

"I. Do. Not. Play. Games. With. Your. Feelings."

By now, all emotions had been overcome by a defeated exasperation.

"Cereza, I really don't see…" Jeanne began, but she could not continue, because Cereza was pressing her lips against her mouth.

()()()()()()()()()

Jeanne thought:

_She's using me. All she wants is goodbye sex, a meaningless shag. I'm a just a piece of meat to her. All the feelings I have for her mean nothing to her, she doesn't care. I deserve better than this. She's just using me for her own amusement. I should…_

...but then Cereza drew her mouth up the length of Jeanne's neck, flicking her tongue in and out as she went, and the thought evaporated.

Cereza thought:

_Whatever happened to that fabled discipline and restraint? All I ever have to do is hint at sex and she transforms into a randy little minx. So upstanding. So self-righteous. So modest. So…_

…but then Jeanne buried her face in her neck and chest, luxuriating in the scent of her, and the thought crumbled into pieces and blew away.

Jeanne thought:

_For weeks, I've been struggling with my addiction to her. For weeks, I've been fantasizing about something I've lost and can never have. I've finally managed to overcome my craving for her, and now here she is again, drawing me back in. I'm only hurting myself. I'm only making the future more and more difficult. Think of the heartbreak I'm setting in store for myself. I must…_

…but then Cereza draped her body across her and kissed her deeply, and the thought burst into flames and burned to ashes.

Cereza thought:

_I knew this would work. Sex solves everything! There's no need for any of those bothersome conversations about feelings and emotions. All I have to do is remind her of what she's missing. All I have to do is make her realize that no one else can make her feel like this. All it takes is one night, and she's putty in my hands. All it takes…_

…but then Jeanne impatiently pushed Cereza on her back and began moving ravenous hands over her form, and the thought was swallowed up in darkness.

Jeanne thought:

_Nyx, she's so perfect. Her skin, her mouth, her smell, her hair, her fingers, the sounds she makes when I please her, the way she twists and contorts when those feelings race through her body. How many times in the last few weeks have I daydreamed about this? How many hours have I wasted fantasizing about this? All these weeks, I couldn't stop myself thinking about her, and now she's here, and, Goddess, I have her again. She's so perfect, so flawless, so…_

…but then Jeanne's fingers brushed a sensitive area on Cereza's back, and as Jeanne watched Cereza's threw back her head and moaned loudly and arched her entire body and the thought was torn apart.

Cereza thought:

_How could we ever fight, when the shagging is this good? How did I manage go for weeks without this? Whenever we fight, we'll just need to remember how bloody amazing we are in bed. Whenever she gets stroppy, I'll just remind her of what I can do to her. Whenever we have a row, we'll just bonk the bad vibes away. Whenever…_

…but then Jeanne's face distorted and a sob escaped her throat and the thought shattered into a thousand pieces.

Jeanne thought:

_I'm intoxicated with this woman. I'm obsessed with this woman. I'm enthralled with every inch of her, but this is just sympathy sex, a farewell fuck, and when the morning comes she will be gone forever. I'm addicted to her again and I want to stay here forever and ever but this is goodbye sex and this is the last time I'll ever kiss her neck and this is the last time I'll ever run my hand through her hair and this is the last time I'll ever hold her breasts and this is the last time I'll ever taste her mouth and oh Nyx this is the last time I'll ever hear her sigh with pleasure and this is the last time…_

…but then Cereza took hold of Jeanne's leg and raised it to the ceiling, and began trailing kisses up and down its length, and the thought flickered and vanished.

Cereza thought:

_Absence makes the heart grow fondler. The things I'm going to do to this woman in the future. We're going to explore every technique ever conceived. We're going to…_

…but then Jeanne's teeth raked across her skin, and the thought burst like a bubble.

Jeanne thought:

_I should not have allowed myself to do this. I should not have made myself vulnerable again. I must be hungry for punishment. I must be hungry for grief. I must…_

…but then Jeanne opened her eyes, and Cereza was gazing at her, gulping at the air, skin flushed, hair plastered across glistening skin, and the thought disintegrated and drifted away on the breeze.


	6. Chapter 6

**Two**

**Chapter 6**

**Disclaimer: Bayonetta and Jeanne were created by and are the intellectual property of Platinum Games. No copyright infringement intended.**

Jeanne was a naturally beautiful woman, but she had a habit of smothering herself in unnatural quantities of make-up, to the extent that, sometimes, she closely resembled a porcelain doll. Watching her now, Cereza thought: _if she gets any angrier, she's going to explode into a thousand pieces of ceramic. _

_I suppose it would be fun, gluing her back together._

"I am a wonderful woman," Jeanne declared. "I am attractive, intelligent, sophisticated, talented. A delightful conversationalist. It was my destiny to inherit the Umbra Throne! I'm one of a kind! I deserve a partner who _appreciates me._ I deserve a lover who recognizes what a tremendous person I am. But most importantly, I deserve better than _this!"_

Apparently Jeanne was far too swept up in her speechifying to notice Cereza casting a bored glance at the clock on the far wall.

"Do you ever stop to consider my feelings, Cereza? I have needs, also, although my needs are apparently not nearly as shallow as yours. I need companionship. I need intellectual stimulation. And what's more, I have _so much_ to give to a person that's worthy of me. I'm caring, and loyal, and pleasant to be around. There are innumerable men and women who would _kill_ to have me as their girlfriend, Cereza!"

Cereza sighed. The thing was, she really quite liked the arrangement she currently had in place. Cereza had forgotten how much fun it was being single. She had forgotten how much she enjoyed not having to inform her partner of her whereabouts every single moment of the day. She had forgotten how much fun it was not being forced to come up with opinions on outfits and hairstyles and interior décor and countless other silly, irrelevant things. She had forgotten how much easier life was when she had to deal with only one monthly cycle.

Best of all, when the evening came, if she happened to be horny (and Cereza was _that_ type of creature), all she had to do was saunter on over to Jeanne's apartment for a night of unemotional, guilt-free and very loud sex. What was the point in going to the bother of breaking in a new lover, when Jeanne already knew how to satisfy her?

There was only one downside: before she could get to the good part, she was forced to sit through a nightly speech.

"I am not a piece of meat that you can just rub yourself against whenever you're feeling bored! I am not your _booty call! _How_ dare _you just come over here every single night and expect me to simply service you!"

Cereza shifted impatiently. Always a speech. Not that it ever made any difference; Jeanne predictably succumbed to her will.

Jeanne went on: "You've made it perfectly clear by your actions how little regard you have for your Umbra Sister! The next time we meet, the first words that fall from your lips had better be an apology, for I am _owed_ one by your treatment of me!"

"An apology?" asked Cereza. "You want me to apologize for all the times in the last week that I let you climb on top of me and tear my clothes off?"

"No more! I finally see how little you value me. I'm better than this."

Cereza rolled her eyes. "Jeanne, dear, I'm going back to my place, now. Would you like to know what I'm going to do when I get there, hmmmm?"

"Whatever you choose to do, it will not concern me!"

Cereza stepped closer to Jeanne, and met her eyes with a firm gaze. "I'm going to run myself a bath. There's a nice, big tub in my new place – plenty of room to stretch about – and I'm going to fill it with salts and have a nice, long soak. I'm going to put scented candles all over the room," and here Cereza closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. "Mmmmm, I can already smell them!"

"Now, I can't have my skin getting dried up and wrinkly, can I? When bath time is over, I'd better make sure to rub plenty of lotion into my skin." There was no need for illustration, but Cereza glided her hands over her stomach and waist anyway. "Every inch…" she said, her eyes never leaving Jeanne's.

"After that, I'm going to get into my big, queen-sized bed. I'm going to lay down on that fresh cotton – but, ooh, what will I do if I can't get to sleep?" Cereza feigned concern, and placed a contemplative finger on her lips. "How will I get rid of all this energy?"

Jeanne smiled brightly. "Well, Cereza, you _do_ possess the most extensive collection of vibrators known to womankind, so I'm sure you'll find a way."

Cereza laughed harshly, and then wiggled her hips. "I have a buzz in my body, and I'm going to have to find a way to burn it off. One way or another, Jeanne, when I fall asleep tonight, I am going to have a _blissful_ smile on my face. Whether you decide to play a part in the proceedings or not, is up to you."

The air crackled with electricity as a portal opened up in the middle of the apartment, a portal leading to Cereza's own dwelling, across the city. Before she turned away, Cereza gazed at Jeanne, a wordless challenge passing between them. Cereza stepped through the portal, and disappeared from view.

The portal did not disappear. It hovered in the air, waiting, daring Jeanne to step through.

_My resolve is wrought from steel,_ thought Jeanne. _For the last few nights, I went along with her little game, because I wanted to. I exploited her just as she exploited me. I am of Umbra blood, I would not submit my flesh to any person unless I so chose! But I will submit no more! I'm not going to let that woman lead me around by the nose! I'm not going to live at her beck and call!_

_Cereza wants to have sex with me, and I'm going to refuse!_

_Cereza wants to have sex with me, and I'm going to refuse…_

_Cereza wants to have sex with me…_

()()()()()()

Jeanne's head was in her hands. "I was Cereza's best friend when she was a child. I was her _only_ friend. We grew into women together. I sealed her away to save her life. After Jubileus was defeated, we were lovers for an entire year. I shared _everything_ with her. And after all we've experienced together, suddenly she sees me as nothing more than a…a _fuck buddy?_"

Jeanne threw up her hands in defeat, and fell back into the couch. "Everything that I ought to represent to her…I…how can she be so _unfeeling?_ How can she treat me as nothing more than some…convenient _sexual outlet_, after everything I've done for her? She _knows_ how I feel about her. She knows how much work I put into trying to keep our relationship intact. How can she be content with just…doing…what we've been doing lately?"

Kaufmann mused for a moment on the latest developments, and then said: "You know, Jeanne, in your and Cereza's case, I think this 'friends-with-benefits' arrangement is a bad situation. I _really_ don't think you should continue to have sexual relations with Cereza anymore. Break-ups are followed by periods of emotional healing, but, in your case, by continuing to see Cereza, you keep sending yourself back to Square One. You're not going to be able to get over this split until you remove Cereza from your life. _Altogether,_ Jeanne."

"Well, of course, but…I still don't understand how she can be so cavalier about me! Do I really mean _so little_ to her? Am I really just a meaningless screw to her? Nyx, I…I told Cereza things that I would never tell another soul! I've never, ever allowed anyone to be as close to me as she was! When Cereza's memories returned, and she remembered how terribly the Umbra abused her, I was the one who tried to be her rock. I was the one who tried to keep her sane, no matter how angry or distraught she became! And despite all of this, now she thinks of me as nothing but her _whore!"_

Kaufmann nodded vigorously. "You see, Jeanne? Do you see? You're dwelling on all these horrible ideas and emotions, and all because of this woman! You need to recognize that this is a really unhealthy relationship! You need to keep as far away from Cereza as possible! Run away! Don't answer her calls, don't read about her in the news, don't do anything that could remind you of her!"

"Yes, yes, but how in Paradiso did it get like this? Friends don't just…did she _change,_ somehow?"

Jeanne's face scrunched up, and for a moment, Kaufmann thought that she was going to burst into tears. Jeanne glanced frantically around the office, her gaze darting here and there, as if desperately searching for something to focus her gaze upon.

"She tricked me, didn't she?" she said, her voice becoming increasingly mournful. "Oh, Nyx, she tricked me. The Cereza that I knew and the Cereza of today are two completely different people. I was wrong all along. I wanted to believe that she was the same woman, I wanted to believe that there was some of that spirit left, but I just deceived myself. The old Cereza died when I sealed her in that casket, and the new Cereza just saw someone she could take advantage of. Oh, Nyx, I've been such an idiot…"

"Now, Jeanne, there's no need to jump to conclusions…"

"What other explanation is there? I wanted my friend back! I wanted my oldest, dearest friend back, and that impostor, that _conwoman_ perceived my weakness and _pounced!_ She spent twenty years working with hoodlums and thieves, she knew precisely what she was doing! Oh, it all makes sense, now! I've been such a gullible fool! All those secrets I told her, all the intimacies I shared with her, and all along she was just using me! I told her that she was my entire world, and all that time I was nothing to her but a delectable piece of…" Jeanne's face twisted into a knot of revulsion. "_…arse!"_

Kaufmann groaned. _You know,_ he thought to himself, _this is probably the easiest way to keep those two away from each other. If you have any sense, you'll let Jeanne believe that Cereza really was taking her for a ride. Jeanne will have nothing more to do with Cereza – and then with Cereza out of the picture, Jeanne'll be free to deal with her own mountain of neuroses without that other woman making things worse._

But Jeanne was still in full-on lamentation mode. "How could I have been so _naïve?_ I thought that we were Sisters. I thought that she was my other self. I thought that we would rebuild the Umbra Order together – and she thought that I was nothing more than a piece of choice totty! My goddess, I've been such a fool! My ancestors would be so ashamed of me! I've disappointed all my Sisters, I'm unworthy of my lineage, I'm unworthy of the legacy of the Order, I never deserved the Umbra Throne…"

Before things get out of hand, Kaufmann decided to interject. "Look, Jeanne, you're jumping the gun, here."

_What are you doing, you idiot?_, cried a part of Kaufmann's mind, the part that liked to keep things simple. _She's one step away from banishing Cereza from her life forever!_

"Jumping the gun?" asked Jeanne. "How so?"

_Pretend you said nothing! Tell her she's hearing voices!_

Kaufmann grimaced, but went on: "I already told you that Cereza has little experience with meaningful relationships. She doesn't know how people behave when they're together. She doesn't know how to handle differences or compromise. She doesn't know how to handle break-ups."

Jeanne was leaning forward in her seat, paying the doctor rapt attention. There was eagerness in her eyes – and something more, Kaufmann noted with dismay. He thought he could perceive a glint of hope.

Kaufmann took a deep breath, and sealed his fate: "Since Cereza doesn't know what normal relationships look like…it's possible that she thinks your current situation is a romantic relationship."

Jeanne's cheek twitched.

"I don't know this for sure," he stressed. "Cereza stopped attending our sessions when she broke up with you, and I haven't seen her since. I can only guess at what's going through her head. But when I did have her as a client, I learned very quickly that Cereza cuts out anything in life that makes her uncomfortable. She has an amazing ability to ignore anything that she doesn't like. When she was up all hours, boozing and partying, her behaviour caused you immense distress – and she just ignored it. Now, you two have settled into a casual sexual relationship, which you find unfulfilling, not to mention hurtful. Once again, Cereza's just ignoring the fact that she's hurting you."

"Do you remember when I explained how Cereza felt so oppressed by the expectations that you had for her, how she felt so burdened by the demands that you were making of her, that she was unconsciously attempting to destroy the relationship? Well, now that she doesn't live with you anymore, she no longer feels this expectation weighing on her. She probably thinks that the relationship has improved! She has more freedom, she no longer has to put up with your complaining, and she can get sex and intimacy from you whenever she feels like it. And you oblige her. From her point of view, all the problems that you two had have been solved, and all she had to do was move to another part of the city. If someone asked her, she might say that your relationship has never been better."

"But it's not a relationship!" Jeanne protested.

"Yes, but she can't see that," said Kaufmann. "You need to make her understand this, Jeanne. Cereza is far too thick-skulled to work it out by herself. You need to leave this woman behind. You'll never be able to address your issues as long as you have this woman piling her own problems on top of yours."

"My issues? My problems?" Jeanne raised a dubious eyebrow, and then gave a forlorn laugh. "And to think, I originally sent Cereza to you because I thought that _she_ was the one needing healing."

"Oh, she does. She clearly does. But, like I said, I haven't seen her since she walked out of this office, weeks ago." With a shrug, Kaufmann added: "I guess not going to my therapy sessions is another bonus that comes with this new, improved relationship that Cereza thinks she has with you."

Jeanne shook her head, disbelievingly. "Was I truly that bad? Was I such a nag that she came close to killing herself with alcohol, just so that I would leave her?"

Jeanne thought: _Every night, Cereza comes knocking on the door._ _We argue for a while, we make love, and when I wake up in the morning, if I'm lucky, she'll still be there for breakfast. I see her for two hours a day, three at most. Can she really bear to see me for only three hours a day?_

Jeanne brooded for a full minute, Kaufmann patiently waiting, and then two words slipped out: "Poor thing."

"Yes," said Kaufmann. "Cereza has a long and hard road ahead of her. But she can't be fixed until she's ready to be fixed. The important thing, now, Jeanne, is worrying about your own mental happiness. We've got to focus on _your_ wellbeing."

"My wellbeing…" said Jeanne, and as Kaufmann watched, a light came into her eyes. "Yes. I'm not happy, am I, doctor? Deep down, in my heart, I'm very unhappy."

"And we'll work on that, Jeanne, you have my word!"

Jeanne continued, as if being carried along by some train of thought that she could not escape: "I punish the people around me, because I am so miserable. It's true, isn't it? I make people suffer because I feel so wretched."

"Yes, but you're a fighter, and you'll prevail over this."

Jeanne nodded eagerly, and a strange smile crept over her face. It was as if this train was taking her somewhere that she really, _really_ liked. "Yes. Yes. I'll confront my melancholy head-on. I'll resolve these problems of mine, and when I do, I'll no longer punish others for my own unhappiness."

"That's the spirit."

"I'm going to be a kinder, more thoughtful woman…"

"Great!"

"…and when I am, Cereza and I can be together!"

If Kaufmann had the strength and recuperative powers of a witch, he would at that moment have launched his forehead into a wall.


	7. Chapter 7

**Two**

**Chapter 7**

**Disclaimer: Bayonetta and Jeanne were created by and are the intellectual property of Platinum Games. No copyright infringement intended.**

Cereza knocked on the door, and when it opened, she found that Jeanne was wearing _that_ smile.

It was a slightly creepy smile, with just a hint of derangement. It was the smile she wore when her children were stung by wasps or nosedived onto concrete or dropped drainpipes on their toes and _just wouldn't stop crying_. It was the smile she wore when Cereza unexpectedly turned up at the staff party and loudly announced to all of her fellow teachers that _I'm Jeanne's lesbian girlfriend, and don't we make such a sumptuous pair together?_ It was the smile she wore when she tried to push her way through crowds of paparazzi as they blasted her with high-power flashbulbs and questions such as _Jeanne, can you forgive Bayonetta for riding around Manhattan without underwear_ and _Jeanne, how embarrassed were you to see Bayonetta projectile vomiting onto Angelina Jolie's chest_ and _Jeanne, 98% of our readers believe that Bayonetta is the celebrity most likely to be cheating on their partner with multiple lovers, how does that make you feel, Jeanne?_

It was the smile she wore when the universe was employing a pincer formation in its attempts to drive her mad. It was the smile she wore when she was internally begging the world to be nice to her and just let things go her way for once.

Jeanne welcomed Cereza inside. Over the last couple of weeks, Cereza had become so accustomed to being confronted instead with an icy remoteness that she truthfully felt a little…_uneasy_.

"Would you like something to drink?" asked Jeanne, sweetly.

"A drink?" asked Cereza. "Only a month ago you were complaining about my being an _alcoholic_."

Anxiety flashed briefly in Jeanne's eyes, but The Smile remained steadfast. "I had more in mind tea or coffee," she said.

"Oh. Well, you're suspiciously hospitable tonight. But we both know, Jeanne, I'm here to avail of a different kind of _hospitality_…"

The Smile yet remained in place. "Well, who knows what could happen tonight? Would you like to sit awhile and have some conversation?"

Cereza appraised her Sister suspiciously for a moment, and then shrugged. She strolled over to one of the armchairs, and lowered herself into the plush leather. "Tea," she said. "White. Two sugars. Or three. Or four. Depending on how much energy you expect I'm going to need in the next hour or so."

The Smile did not budge. "Of course!" she replied, brightly, and with that she dashed off into the kitchen area. Before long, the sound of clinking teacups, piping kettles and fridge doors opening and shutting drifted from the side. Cereza imagined Jeanne pottering around the kitchen, The Smile fixed permanently on her face as she went about preparing tea; the image was far too eerie and disturbing, and she banished it from her head.

From her position in the chair, Cereza cast her gaze around the apartment. The place was immaculately clean, which was unusual. Jeanne was always a very tidy woman, but this was the first time since their break-up that she had made an effort to make the place utterly spotless.

_Hmmm,_ mused Cereza. _It appears I am now a visitor, whereas before I was merely a pest who came calling for casual sex. I've been upgraded! How nice!_

As Cereza further surveyed the area, she realized that there were a lot more framed photographs dotted around the location than usual. Over the mantle place, there was a photo of Jeanne, leaning against a railing. She was clad in a red scarf and a striped black-and-white woolen sweater, and the rolling expanse of the ocean stretched out endlessly before her.

_I remember that,_ said Cereza to herself. Cereza was the one who had been holding the camera. Jeanne hadn't even sensed that her picture was being taken. They were on a luxury cruiser, somewhere in the…the Mediterranean, wasn't it?

_My word, thought Cereza. We had only been together for a few weeks, by that point. The picture was taken almost a year ago. Our relationship had only started. The tickets for that cruise were bloody expensive, but we spent most of the time in that penthouse cabin, gorging ourselves on one another. It's never a good idea to go on a trip when you're just starting. You're only ever interested in shagging…_

Cereza took in more of the apartment. On a desk by the window, there was another photograph: Jeanne, again, sat astride one of her fleet of motorcycles. Cereza knew instinctively that, again, she was the one who had taken the picture.

_I was sitting on my own motorcycle, at the time. We were riding across Europe. Just Jeanne and I, all alone together. When it was over, she said that the journey proved to her that all she needed in the universe was me._

In a glass cabinet, alongside an assortment of trophies, plaques and ornaments, there was a photograph, again, of Jeanne. She was standing before a train, facing the photographer, a grudging but sincere smile on her face.

_I took this one also. It was on the Trans-Siberian Railway. Jeanne had taken the train journey in 1910, and she kept telling me how romantic and inspiring it was. Then when we took the trip together, we found that the train was full of obnoxious, ugly tourists, and the restaurant served terrible food. The view from the windows was mostly obstructed by miles of hedge, and excruciating Russian pop music played on the speakers all day long. In the end, we took matters into our own hands. I snapped my fingers, and the annoying tourists were replaced by cats. Jeanne snapped her fingers, and the irritating pop music was replaced by a living orchestra in the next compartment. We snapped our fingers together, and the carriage was transformed from Economy to Paradiso-Class Luxury._

Hanging from a far wall, yet another picture of Jeanne. She was chopping wood in a forest. She was dressed in an impeccably neat chequered shirt, and wore a knotted silk handkerchief on her head. Even while hacking trees into pieces, Jeanne was still obsessed with fashion.

_I took this photograph, also. I…I remember this time. We were in a log cabin in Switzerland. This…this was not a happy time for me. My memories were returning. Every day, I remembered something new about the ways that they treated my mother and I. This…I was very angry. I was very frustrated. It wasn't very easy for Jeanne to be around me, at that time. But she was very supportive. She was very…patient, as I recall._

The Smile emerged from the kitchen, a tea tray hovering in front of it. Jeanne set the tray on the coffee table, and lifted the teapot to fill up both cups. She passed one of the cups to Cereza.

"You have rather a lot of photographs of yourself all around the place," said Cereza.

"I think I look very fetching in those pictures!" said Jeanne, her voice buoyed up with a cheeriness that would not have fooled a stranger, let alone the woman that knew her better than any other in Creation.

Cereza lifted the jug and poured milk into her tea, and then took the pot of sugar.

"Hmmm," said Cereza.

"Hmmm," heard Jeanne.

Cereza began depositing spoonfuls of sugar into her drink. She didn't need to look to know that Jeanne was watching her.

Striptease: one spoonful.

Lapdance: one spoonful.

Full-body massage: one spoonful.

Saliva Transfusion: one spoonful.

Temporary transformation into a creature with four arms, four legs, two heads and one mole: one spoonful.

"By the Goddess!" exclaimed Jeanne. "How on earth do you have any _teeth_, Cereza? And what about your figure?"

"I perform about five thousand backflips a day. I think I'll burn it off."

The Smile had become crooked with alarm, but only fleetingly. Jeanne poured milk into her own tea, opted to forgo the sugar, and settled back into her armchair. "So…" she began. "How are you?"

Cereza stared suspiciously across the coffee table at Jeanne, but her Sister just beamed hopefully back at her. Cereza quietly assessed Jeanne for a moment, before giving her carefully-considered response.

"Horny," she said.

The Smile would not be overcome that easily. Jeanne laughed nervously. "Well, ha ha, yes. Ha ha. Obviously. But, er, in all seriousness, Cereza, how are you getting along?"

Cereza replied with a non-committal shrug. "All right, I suppose."

"Good! Good! Ah, have you been doing much modeling, lately?"

"A little. Some work in Monaco."

"Oh, that is nice!"

Cereza gazed dully at Jeanne, and all of a sudden, Jeanne realized that both of them were trapped in an agonizing, unnerving silence. The silence went on, stretching into seconds, and with a mounting panic, Jeanne found that she couldn't think of any questions or comments to break it.

"That's nice…" she said, breathlessly.

They sat opposite one another for a few further moments, Cereza watching her disinterestedly, Jeanne pouring every drop of focus she could muster into maintaining The Smile.

Finally, Cereza spoke. "If you find my company uncomfortable," she said in a level voice, "I think I'll just collect my orgasm and leave."

The Smile twisted horribly, writhed in the grip of its death throes, and, after one final convulsion, was gone. Jeanne's gaze fell to the ground, and from the way her face contorted, it looked as if she was about to burst into years. It briefly seemed as though she could not speak, but then she shook her head sadly, and said: "It cannot continue like this any longer, Cereza."

Cereza let loose with a groan of exasperation. "Jeanne, why don't we switch things around for a change? Why don't you save the speech until _after_ you have given me my tongue bath?"

Jeanne's eyes hardened slightly. "I'm determined not to allow you to make me angry tonight, Cereza. _Listen to me._ You _must_ understand this. I have to get over you. I have to overcome this craving I have for you, and I cannot do this as long as you keep knocking on my door every night, looking for a few hours of meaningless physicality."

Cereza laughed. "_Physicality?_ How quaint! So embarrassed by your own desires that you have to cloak them in euphemisms. _We have sex, Jeanne. We fuck."_

"Not any more."

"Ugh…"

"If you're not willing to be my mate, Cereza, then this must end. Now. This very moment. _I-can-not-do-this-anymore,_" she stated, slapping her hands on her knees for emphasis.

"Yes, yes, yes," said Cereza, her voice mockingly robotic. "You are oh-so conflicted and tormented by your longing for me. I am such an evil temptress."

Jeanne's breathing had quickened. She decided that, at this point, she may as well plump for an all-or-nothing strategy. What had she to lose?

"I love you," she said.

"I love you too, darling. Now let's get to the bedroom so that we can fulfill our nightly quota, and I can be on my way."

"When we fuck, Cereza, does it not bother how much I want you? Are you not even a _little_ bit frightened by how much I _need_ you?"

Cereza smirked wickedly. "Well, just look at me!" she said, her hand gliding down the landscape of her chest, stomach and legs. "_Anyone_ in your position would go _mad_ with lust, just the way you do!"

Jeanne carried on, refusing to be disheartened. "I know that you love me also, Cereza. No creature in existence knows you better than I, and I know that, deep in your heart, you want to be with me."

"I _do_ want to be with you," said Cereza. "For two hours a day. Just the way I like it."

Jeanne ignored her. "I know that I made you miserable for an entire year, Cereza. I finally realize that, and I am _truly sorry_. Over the centuries, I became so obsessed with getting my dear, cherished friend back that I…I never considered the possibility that you had changed. From the beginning, I forced you to live up to the memory of a _ghost_. I weighed you down with expectations that you should never have had forced upon you. I'm sorry, Cereza. I'm sorry."

She went on: "My students know what type of woman I am, but the little things are too young to know what exact word describes it. I'm a _bitch_, Cereza. I'm a bitch. I'm a bigheaded, arrogant, self-righteous, self-important, judgmental _cow_. I know that, now. I've always known it, but I've always been too proud to recognize it. I…I'm trying to change the person that I am, Cereza. I'm trying to look down on people less. I'm trying to be an easier person to live with."

"Cereza, if you decide to give this relationship another chance…_no, don't roll your eyes, Cereza, I'm serious!_ If you decide to become my partner again, you'll find that things will be different. Whether you return to me or not, I'm not going to remain the old Jeanne any longer. If you come back to me, I will not make the same mistakes as before. I accept you for who you are, Cereza. I love you for the person that you truly are. Honestly, I'm _proud_ about the fact that you're a successful model! I'm proud that you have been able to find a happy life for yourself, after everything that you suffered because of those _hags_. I will never attempt to make you feel guilty for who you are, ever again, Cereza, I promise. I will not torment you with speeches or disapproval. I want to have a home with you. I want you to feel that you belong with me. I want you to be happy, my love."

Jeanne gazed at Cereza, her face filled with hopeful expectation. She laughed, slightly embarrassed. "Well, I've finished telling you about my heart, Cereza. I've spilled my guts. What do you think?"

Cereza gazed into the murky, brown, sugar-laden depths of her tea. She wrinkled her nose, drew breath, and then gave her response.

"Jeanne," she said. "You have just completely obliterated my libido."

Cereza put the cup to her lips, and swallowed the entire contents in a single gulp. Cereza had a party trick (of which she was enormously proud) in which she did away with an entire glass of beer in a single motion. All things considered, a single cup of tea was not much of a challenge.

Cereza set the cup back down on its plate with a disheartening _clink_ of finality, and stood to leave. Jeanne shot to her feet.

"Cereza! I can get over you. I _think_ I can. I lived for almost five hundred years without you, although I never stopped thinking about you. I can't be your whore any longer. That is in the past. I know that you genuinely don't mean to hurt me, pet, but I'm not going to allow this to continue. We have to move on. I know what it is you truly want. You want someone who understands you. You want someone who can challenge you. You want someone who will love you unconditionally. And you know that you will find all of these things with me. But you have to make a decision, Cereza. I'm not going to wait for much longer. I can't, for both our sakes."

Cereza was not looking at her. She was facing in the direction of the door.

"Please give me your answer soon," said Jeanne. "We've both suffered long enough, haven't we?"

Cereza shot Jeanne one last, distrusting glance, and then stalked towards the door and let herself out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Two**

**Chapter 8**

**Disclaimer: Bayonetta and Jeanne were created by and are the intellectual property of Platinum Games. No copyright infringement intended.**

Cereza's eyes fluttered open at 5:54 a.m. Her first instinct was to slither out of bed, quietly slip into her clothes and vanish before Jeanne woke up and had the chance to burden her with yet another guilt trip.

Then she lifted her head from the pillow, pushed her hair from her eyes, and looked around. This was not Jeanne's apartment. Jeanne was not lying across from her on the other side of the bed.

"Ugh," she grumbled. She rolled onto her back, and, as she stared at the ceiling, the events of last night came rushing back to her, each memory giving her a reason to feel just a little bit more miserable.

Jeanne had refused her advances. For someone who took such immense pride in being _The Sexiest Woman In the World_, or _The Most Beautiful Woman of the Decade_, or _The Most Desirable Human In The Multiverse_, or _The Most Irresistible Goddess In Existence_, or any of the hundreds of other meaningless accolades that shallow, tacky magazines loved to award her with, this was a particularly bitter rejection.

Jeanne had told Cereza that she loved her. Cereza had already known, of course. Cereza knew of Jeanne's feelings since that moment two years ago when she freed her Umbra Sister from the will of her father. The trouble was, now that the sentiment had been expressed in conversation, Cereza knew that her pesky conscience would find it easier to make her feel guilty every time she took advantage of Jeanne's feelings to sate her own bodily desires. Bloody conscience…

Jeanne had also told her that their little _arrangement_ was over. It remained to be seen whether Jeanne could continue to resist Cereza's charms, but for the time being, it seemed as if their friendship-with-benefits was at an end.

Cereza gave a disgruntled snort. _I've only been awake for two minutes, but if the rest of the day is going to be this depressing, perhaps I shouldn't bother getting out of bed._

Cereza lay on the mattress, and allowed her senses to soak up the world around her. She listened to the growling of engines and the blaring of horns on the streets below. She watched the shadows glide across the room as the sun rose into the sky and tried to peek through her curtains.

She glanced at the calendar on the dresser, and, after a brief calculation, she realized that she had now been teetotal for exactly three weeks. She was still not used to waking up with a clear head. If only she had a hangover, she could simply roll over and sleep for another six or so hours…

Cereza pushed herself out of bed, and headed to the bathroom.

()()()()()()()

Cereza wiped the haze of steam from the surface of the mirror, and stared at the figure within the reflection. Her eyes were dark, and stern, and the severity of her expression was accentuated by the black vines of hair falling about her face and clinging to her skin. She had yet to apply her usual makeup, and her skin was sallow and clammy, giving the effect that her face seemed almost skull-like.

Cereza could look quite scary, sometimes, when she wanted to.

She gazed into the mirror. "I don't like ultimatums," she said.

()()()()()()()()()

Cereza dressed and went to the kitchen. She was halfway through her cereal when the pangs struck her, and she rolled her eyes and groaned. _So tiresome, so predictable._

Every morning, for twenty years, Cereza had guzzled a beer with her breakfast. It was one of the most difficult habits she had ever had to break.

()()()()()()()()()

While they were together, Jeanne had been the fashion fanatic in the relationship. She spent hours with her nose buried in copies of _Elle, Vogue, L'Officiel, Journal du Textile, Oui _– what's French for _Pretentious Prigs?_

One would, at first, assume that Cereza had a similar interest in fashion. It was not an unreasonable conclusion to jump to; Cereza gave a lot of thought to her appearance, and she often wore very elaborate outfits. However, the difference between Jeanne and Cereza was that, while Jeanne strove to always be at the cutting-edge of style, and to project an image of herself as a sophisticated, confident, intelligent woman, Cereza chose her outfits with only one objective in mind: to provoke people.

Some people wore costumes made of fur. Not only did Cereza wear clothes that had been fashioned from the butchered carcasses of animals, but if you asked them, the outfits would come to life and tell you exactly how they had been slaughtered. On one occasion, Cereza wore a suit; it would have been uncharacteristically conservative of her, only for the fact that the suit was composed entirely of nude photographs of herself.

Cereza's fashion philosophies also extended to her approach to interior design. Jeanne's apartment was chic and trendy, designed so that visitors would be in no doubt at all that their host was a stylish, classy individual. When people entered Cereza's apartment, she wanted them to be **OFFENDED** and **AFRAID**.

The areas in the apartment were divided by artificial rivers built into the floor. In order to reach the kitchen, the bathroom, the dining area, and so on one had to cross little bridges to enter the various different sections. Jeanne probably would have felt that it was somewhat tacky décor; however, if one knelt at the banks of these mock streams and peered into the water, at the bottom they would see a churning mass of mermaids and fishpeople embroiled in a decadent orgy beneath the waves.

In a corner of the apartment, there was a sculpture of a deer being torn apart by a pack of ferocious dogs.

"In Greek myth, Actaeon was turned into a deer after he glimpsed the goddess Artemis while she was bathing," Cereza would explain to her visitors. "He was devoured alive by his own hunting dogs. He got what he deserved, if you ask me. Now that I mention it, if anyone were to see me nude…"

And here Cereza's voice would begin to drip with poison, and she would glare threateningly at her guest. "If anyone happened to see me nude, I think I would give them the same treatment. I would turn them into a beast, and tear them apart."

The trouble, of course, was that Cereza had filled the walls with examples of some of the more 'artistic' photography she had done. When she told them the story of Actaeon, afterwards her guests would usually stumble around the apartment with their hands over their eyes. Unless Cereza's guests feared for their lives, she felt she was failing in her duties as a hostess.

Cereza walked across the apartment, and stood before a large bronze fertility idol that was resting on a shelf. The statue gripped his massive phallus in his hands and held it upwards into the air, an enraptured grin on his grotesque face. His member was disconcertingly huge, as large as the rest of his body; however, he was hiding a secret.

Cereza reached forward, and detached the phallus from the god. Underneath, there was another bronze penis, smaller and thinner than the one she had just removed. Cereza took off this member as well, revealing an even less impressive appendage.

Cereza had found this fertility idol in a market in Montevideo. When she first saw it, she had been unable to stop laughing for five full minutes. She still thought it was funny.

Cereza removed another false member, and thus exposed the true shortcomings of the fertility god. When the final false limb was removed, a mechanism was triggered, and, off to the right, a section of the wall juddered slightly, and slid away, revealing a secret passage.

()()()()()()()()()

Cereza followed a winding set of steps to the cellars.

When someone entered Bayonetta's basement, the first reaction was usually to think that they had stepped into a bondage dungeon. The place was filled with hellish torture machines. There were cells adjoining the main area, closed off with metal bars. The place was surrounded by walls of seven feet of pure concrete, ensuring that not a single, solitary sound could ever escape. There were chains _everywhere_.

Cereza had her kinky side, obviously; however, this place was not constructed with any sexual fantasies in mind.

As a witch, Cereza and Jeanne were required to kill angels every single day. If they failed to live up to this obligation, they would be dragged to hell. Now, both Cereza and Jeanne enjoyed the good life, and their enjoyment of the good life would be severely impaired if it was necessary for them to hunt angels literally _every single day_. What if Jeanne wanted to attend a fashion show in Milan, or Cereza wanted to make an appearance at a film premiere?

Thus it was that both Jeanne and Cereza had created their own dungeons, in which they could store large numbers of angels, which they could then sacrifice when needed. Whenever their collection of prisoners fell to a low number, they simply went out, searched for a large regiment of Paradiso's troops, kicked the tar out of them, and then imprisoned the survivors in their secret prisons.

There were twenty-six angels in Cereza's dungeon that morning. They were slumped in their cells in various postures of despair and helplessness, until Cereza appeared in the entranceway, and they stirred into motion.

Unsurprisingly, Cereza was wearing a dominatrix outfit, a PVC nightmare the mere sight of which, by now, reduced her victims to quivering masses of Pavlovian weeping and trembling. Her reasoning was that, if these poor creatures were going to die, the last thing that they lay their eyes on should be utterly _sumptious _to look at. She affected a sexy pose, one of the literally thousands of provocative stances that she seemed to have catalogued in her head. She surveyed her prisoners, a smirk on her face.

"Good morning, boys."

()()()()()()()()()()

"_Harlot!"_ screamed the angel, a Gracious who answered to the name of Adventis. He spoke in thickly-accented Enochian, but Cereza could understand him well enough. He was currently chained by his claws and feet to a horrifying device which, once properly primed by his tormenter, would pull him apart, limb-by-limb. _"Vile fornicatress! Know that the agonies you may inflict upon me will not compare to the excruciating tortures of Inferno that await all witches! Loathsome, disease-ridden, deceitful, corrupting whore of demons!"_

And if that sounded bad in English, just imagine how it came across in his native Enochian…

Cereza, naturally, was ignoring him. Truth was, she was not as enthusiastic this morning as she usually was. Her mind was on Jeanne, and even her angelic friends could not distract her.

"I just _know_ that if I go back to her she'll think of it as some sort of _victory_," said Cereza. "A victory _over me_. She'll think that she was proven to be right about…something."

Cereza pulled a lever, and Adventis roared in displeasure.

"_Depraved sorceress! Your blood runs thick with every venereal infection that humankind has ever known!"_

"I mean, just what exactly is _wrong_ with our current arrangement? Why can't we keep things the way they are? The status quo is _damned good_, from my point of view! We have a good shag whenever we want. She _always_ starts crying afterwards, and I give her a good hug, even though I don't have to. And then we have the rest of the day to ourselves. I thought that Jeanne would be _happy_ to see less of me. Heaven knows, she never seemed to appreciate my company when we were officially together. Always nagging. '_Cereza, you're such a slut. Cereza, you're such a drunkard.'_ Never in those words, of course…"

Cereza snapped her fingers, and ravenous, flesh-eating rats started pouring from a compartment and rushing towards Adventis. The mouths of the rats were filled with venomous spiders, which spun razor sharp webs which were used as ninja ropes by tiny microscopic Preying Mantises…

"_Detestable prostitute! You shall be condemned to an eternity of service in the brothels of hell, and your patrons shall be sinners and traitors and liars and thieves and devils and your legs shall open for the pleasure of the contaminated members of every heretic and apostate that Jubileus, glory be on Her name, casts from Her Sacred Domain!"_

"…always going on and on about how _I didn't care about her_. When did Jeanne ever show _me_ that she cared? Hmmm? Oh, of course, she chased after me, paid my bail, checked me into rehab. But she only did those things so that she could _lord_ it over me. She just took every opportunity to remind me how much _better_ she is…"

With her left foot, Cereza started operating a pump on the ground, and Adventis yelped in terror as his stomach began to expand.

"_When you perish, you shall join the ranks of your Sisters, the accursed Umbra Order of Witches, all wicked, all degenerate, all unclean, all blasphemers, all richly deserving of the wrath that was visited upon them on that glorious day, five centuries ago! You shall join them, slattern! You shall suffer as they did, as they do now!" _

"Would it have hurt her to tell me once, _just once,_ that she thought that I was beautiful? Did it never occur to her to tell me that she admired my work, what I had accomplished? That she…" Cereza voice broke, and she indeed seemed astonished at the momentary loss of control. She gathered herself: "…that she was _proud_ of me?"

Cereza performed a magical gesture, and outside, dark clouds began to gather in the sky above the apartment building. A low rumble echoed across the city, and arcs of lightning flashed across the sky. Oh, by the way, did we mention that on the roof of the building was a lightning rod, which was connected to a bundle of copper cables which snaked down through the walls, into the cellars, leading all the way to Adventis' divine nipples?

"_A wonder indeed that an impure mongrel such as you could be the issue of such an innocent being as a Lumen Sage. You are an abortion, do you understand? An anomalous aberration in Jubileus' otherwise perfectly-functioning universe! Who could love a wretch such as you?"_

"Couldn't she just swallow her pride, now and again? Does she really think so little of me? Was it really such a disappointment that her girlfriend was damaged goods? Is she so full of herself that she thought she deserved _better_ than me?"

Cereza wound up an enchanted watch, and Adventis was trapped in a temporal anomaly in which he was forced to listen to _O Fortuna_ continuously for four billion years. At first he was totally _pumped_, but…

"_It is the bitterest tragedy that so many humans adore you so! If only they could see how sinful and vile you truly are! All those young men that admire you, all those foolish women that are inspired by you, all being led merrily to Inferno by their false idol! And to Inferno they will go! To flames and eternal misery they will follow you!"_

Cereza seemed to have reached a verdict of some kind. "Well good riddance to her!" she said, and when she next spoke, she was performing her impersonation of Jeanne. "_'Oh, I love you, Cereza!'_ Too little, too late, Jeanne! She can find another girlfriend! She can find someone that deserves her, someone that matches up to her perfect standards! I'm pissed off with her ultimatums! First she makes me go to that shrink – that, that _quack_ – and now she thinks she can dictate my love life? No more! I'm going to go over to her place tonight, and I'm going to make it clear to her that we're finished. _Terminally._"

Adventis bellowed angrily: _"A pity! It seemed proper that you be bound together! It seemed as if you deserved her! She seems to my ears to be, just as with you, a deceitful, cowardly, wicked slattern, the bitch offspring of temptresses and perverts!"_

A car screeched to a halt.

A jukebox spluttered and died.

An audience gasped and watched in horrified silence.

Somehow, the dungeon beneath Cereza's apartment seemed to get _darker_.

Up to this moment, Cereza had been lost in her own little world, only paying fractured heed to the treatment of her prisoner. Suddenly, the angel realized that he had her attention. _All_ of her attention.

"What did you just say?" asked Cereza. The high-pitched affectation was gone. The self-awareness was gone. All the fakery and artifice that Cereza had honed over years spent in nightclubs and on catwalks had vanished into thin air.

"_This witch! This Jeanne! She is a whore, just as you are! You are worthy of one another! I wish you could stay together! I wish you could be trapped together forever! I wish you could cause each other unhappiness for all eternity!" _

"Jeanne," stated Cereza, "is my _friend._"

"_A friend of yours must be monstrous indeed! Such a curse your friendship surely is! Though I have not laid eyes upon this 'Jeanne', this doxy, I know that she must certainly be as debased and unchaste as you! While you both were living in sin, while you were committing sodomy together in violation of Jubileus' law, she was laying in many mens' beds, as you no doubt were, also. She is not your friend, no more than you were hers, she was deceiving and cheating you all along, as you no doubt were cheating and deceiving her, and your mutual deception was most deserved!"_

"Jeanne was my friend," repeated Cereza. Her breathing had quickened, and was especially noticeable given her current rigid posture. "What's more: when she was a child, Jeanne was the only friend of another child, a child who had no one else in the entire universe."

_Adventis shook with scoffing laughter. "When you and Jeanne were children, you were already wicked! Two wicked girls, that deserved to be unhappy! Two wicked girls, that deserved all the suffering that they endured! Two wicked girls, that should have suffered much, much more…"_

Cereza's outfit began to unravel. Strands of black hair, tens of thousands, began to bristle and beat about like angry snakes. The other angels in the chamber knew instinctively what was soon to come, and retreated into the shadows of their cells.

Adventis, to give him his due, was courageous._ "Your Jeanne is a witch!" _he bellowed._ "You are a witch! You should be together for eternity! You should despise each other for eternity!"_

Cereza advanced, Adventis helpless before her. She spoke: "If I die, I go to Inferno, and Jeanne will come to rescue me."

Her outfit came entirely undone, and a massive black shape began to accumulate in the gloom behind her.

"If Jeanne dies," said Cereza, "She goes to Inferno, and I will come to rescue her."

Adventis watched in silence as a mountain of shadows and darkness rose above him.

Cereza spoke once more.

"Who's going to rescue you?"

Gomorrah cast open his great jaws, and the cellars flooded with the din of his roar.

()()()()()()()()()

Cereza's hair reshaped itself around her form, fashioning itself into a uncharacteristically demure business suit. She cast her gaze around the chamber. The angels were emerging from the shadows, and wordlessly watching her

She matched their gaze for a few moments. "Thank you for letting me bounce my thoughts off you, boys," she said, at last. "I think I've come to a decision."

She spun on her heels, and headed for the exit. As she was leaving, she called over her shoulder.

"See you tomorrow morning."


	9. Chapter 9

**Two**

**Chapter 9**

**Disclaimer: Bayonetta and Jeanne were created by and are the intellectual property of Platinum Games. No copyright infringement intended.**

Later that morning, Jeanne admitted Cereza into her apartment. Cereza was rather more conservatively dressed than usual; or, at least, her magic-infused hair was arranged into an outfit more modest than the usual abominations she liked to wear.

"A business suit," remarked Jeanne. "You certainly look very professional…"

"I have a photo shoot this afternoon. Despite the fact that I'll only be wearing this suit before and after the session, business is business."

"Of course."

Cereza leaned against a wall, and positioned herself so that Jeanne was only offered her side. It was a distant, guarded posture.

"Have you come to a decision, perchance?" asked Jeanne.

"Mmmm-hmmm. I've decided to give another go at being your paramour."

Jeanne remained impassive, simply replying with: "I'm glad to hear that…"

"_However_," Cereza interrupted, "I think it would be a good idea if we set some _ground rules_."

Jeanne nodded. "That is probably the sensible thing to do."

"First of all: if you agree to enter this arrangement, then you'd better know what you're letting yourself in for. I want there to be no room for misunderstanding this time, Jeanne. I'm a free spirit. I'm a nonconformist – 'nonconformist', isn't that such a _delicious_ word! I like to enjoy life, Jeanne, and if my beloved truly cares for me, they will cherish that, and respect it."

"Very well. If you ever find that I'm stifling you, then _tell me_, Cereza."

"Secondly: there are to be no more _bloody guilt trips!_ I _know_ that I'm not living up to my full potential, and you needn't feel the need to remind me all the time!"

"I know, I know. From this point on, I'll be more concerned that you're happy, Cereza."

"Well, good. You should know that, of all the people in the world, you're the only one that's capable of making me feel _inadequate_." For a moment, Cereza's expression sagged faintly, but then her brow creased in realization as something occurred to her. "Then again, perhaps that's not always a bad thing. With all the yes-men and sycophants I have following me around all the time… if I don't have you around, Jeanne, there's a risk I might become _full of myself_."

Ten distinct ripostes flooded into Jeanne's head, each loudly demanding to be expressed with as much scorn as possible, but Jeanne resisted the temptation. Instead, she simply said: "Well, is that it, Cereza? Are those all your rules? Because I can think of a few of my own that I'd like to set down."

Cereza regarded her neutrally. "Out with them, then."

"You are to take proper care of yourself. I am not going to endure a re-enactment of what we went through before. By now I've learned that it's a fool's dream to expect you to feel embarrassment of any type, but deep inside I hope you're _ashamed_ of some of the things you did!"

"I gave up alcohol three weeks ago, Jeanne. I thought you would have noticed." She waggled her eyebrows. "How did you think my sexual performance improved so much?"

"I never minded you drinking. I never minded you going out. I don't want you to feel imprisoned. But I want to know that you're safe, Cereza! Will it _hurt_ for you to be in bed at a sensible hour? I don't want to run after you any longer! I don't want to have to clean up your mess, and I don't want to be worried for your safety anymore!"

Cereza inwardly growled, but relented nonetheless. "I won't cause you any more bother," she said, staring at the ceiling.

"Good." Jeanne nodded curtly. "Well, I can't think of any more rules."

"Neither can I," said Cereza.

"Hmmm."

An awkward silence descended on the apartment, though only Jeanne was discomforted by it. To Cereza, of course, awkwardness was an alien concept, and so she simply gazed wordlessly at her newly-reinstated girlfriend. Jeanne's eyes darted around the room, frantically searching for, perhaps, _inspiration_; some gurgle of conversation that could offer a few moments of comfort – until the next awkward silence.

Cereza pushed herself off the wall, and faced Jeanne directly. Reaching her arms outwards, she stared at the other woman expectantly. Jeanne's mouth creased into a broad smile, and she moved forward with as much dignity and restraint as the moment would allow her. Jeanne slid into Cereza's arms, and the two women embraced.

She and Cereza had been fuck buddies for the last two weeks, and every time they had been together, Jeanne had always been aware of the sickening possibility that that night might have been the last. Every time her hands roamed over Cereza's body, Jeanne was unable to ignore the possibility that, afterwards, Cereza might have decided that she was bored with her, and left forever. Every time Jeanne gorged herself on Cereza's flesh, she always had, at the back of her mind, the fear that Cereza would lose interest in her and walk away from her for good.

Now, at last, the fears and misgivings were gone, and Jeanne simply held Cereza and savored the feeling of having her in her arms. Her hands drifted up and down her back. She left fleeting kisses along her ears and neck. She ran whimsical fingers through her hair.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you too," said Cereza, in her normal voice. Even Cereza recognized that her 'Bayonetta' voice was far too ridiculous for certain words.

The two women lingered in their clinch for a while longer, and then Jeanne was the first to stir. She gazed into her lover's eyes, and a trace of playfulness had inveigled its way into her expression.

"It's widely believed," she began, "that the best sex occurs when two lovers have a quarrel, and then reconcile." She fixed Cereza a coy look. "It has something to do with _endorphins_, I do believe. I think we're in for a rather good afternoon…"

"Have you forgotten? Endorphins or not, I have an appointment to keep."

_Damn it!_ "Ugh, well, when are you due?"

"I have to be there in half an hour."

"Well, be late!"

"Now that's not a very responsible thing for a _teacher_ to be saying, is it?"

"You're a supermodel! You're _expected_ to be late! Two or three hours, at least!"

"Not any more! I've turned over a new leaf. Jeanne, you're looking at a new, healthy, sober, _punctual_ me."

"Ugh." Jeanne disengaged herself from her partner. "Very well. Whatever you wish. I suppose I can amuse myself here. Do you want me to prepare dinner for tonight, or would you like us to make it together?"

"You know," said Cereza, drawing out the 'oh' sound, which unfailingly indicated that she had mischief on her mind, "if you simply _can't bear_ to be separated from me for the afternoon – "

"I never said that."

" – you could tag along to the shoot."

Jeanne blinked in befuddlement. "The shoot? Why would I want to go to that?"

"Well, you've never been to one before."

"Yes, well, I see your photographs in magazines, and all over the city…"

"Oh, come on, teacher," purred Cereza. "It will be _educational_…"

()()()()()()()()()()

Daguerr Productions was the leading professional photography studio in the entire city. Everyday, famous actors, models and musicians – though few were as well-known as Bayonetta – passed through its doors, and their images were captured by the most accomplished photographers in the world.

The employees of Daguerr Productions were accustomed to playing host to the richest, most popular celebrities on the planet. They were accustomed to having the most superfamous human beings pose for them in their studios.

What they _weren't_ accustomed to was the shrieking harpy currently standing off on the sidelines.

"For Nyx's sake!" yelled Jeanne. "Will one of you cretins give her a _towel?"_

Today, Cereza was modeling a range of designer spectacles. The trouble, for Jeanne, was that the spectacles were the only thing Cereza was actually wearing.

"Calm down, my petal," said Cereza. "This fine establishment has central heating. What do I need a _towel_ for?"

"Why do you have to be naked to sell glasses? _Glasses!_ Why can't you wear a normal outfit?"

"Jeanne, spectacles are sexy, these days. It's the latest fad. Didn't you get the memo? You're the one who spends all her time flipping through fashion rags…"

Cereza lounged in the centre of the studio, not a care in the world. A throng of people milled around her, a bewildering legion of make-up artists, lighting technicians and whatever other gofers and flunkies are needed to produce a decent photo. Cereza simply reclined in the midst of it all, seemingly intoxicated by her own aura of glamour. She didn't even deign to put on and take off the endless series of spectacles that she was exhibiting; a stagehand came, gingerly lowered a pair of glasses behind her ears, ducked out of the view of the camera, then plucked the glasses from her nose and replaced them with another pair for the next photo.

The photographer, an Eastern European with long black hair and a faintly ghoulish face by the name of Monsieur Wiseau, hefted his camera around as he orbited his star like a particularly artistic satellite. "Now, Bayonetta, I need you to stare directly into the camera and have a real feeling of strength and self-sufficiency…"

Jeanne was becoming increasingly shrill. "How can she express strength and self-sufficiency when you treat her like a piece of _meat?_"

Cereza chuckled wickedly. "I've just had a revelation. Do you know what real power is? Here I am sitting in the middle of a crowd of people, without any clothes on, and all it will take is for me to say a few words, and any one of these darlings will _lose their jobs_. It's quite an exhilarating feeling, really."

"Yeah, yeah, that's good, Bayonetta. Now, if you can inject a sense of humour into your demeanour, try to seem more friendly, more inviting…"

"Yes, yes, yes, more inviting, more friendly, thus allowing all those leering Neanderthal men to feel less guilty about _ogling_ her!"

"I will be very put out if I find that you've been airbrushing these pictures, Monsieur Wiseau. I work very hard to look this good, I'll have you know."

"That's gooooooood, Bayonetta! No, no airbrushing. I need you to stare directly into the camera and have a real feeling of mystery, and enigma, but also inner vulnerability and a sense of the tragic loss of nature before the advance of mankind…"

"She's modeling fucking _glasses_, you pretentious imbecile!"

"All this posing leaves me very tired. I'm going to have no energy at all in the evening."

"That's so good, Bayonetta. Now, I need you to hide behind your left leg, and put your chin on your knee…"

"You!" bellowed Jeanne. "Yes, _you_, the scrawny kid with the disgusting blotchy skin who clearly has no concept of cosmetic care! _I_ _saw you looking at her!_ Keep your eyes on the ground, you pathetic mortal, or I'll make you stare at those lights until you go _blind!_ That goes for all of you!"

"Mmmmm…do you smell that? That is the smell of _fear_. All of these poor assistants are _terrified_ of me! Poor little things!"

"Very goooooooood, Bayonetta. Now, I would like if you could lift your arms above your shoulders so that we can get just the right shape…"

"This is sexist! What kind of message is this sending to women? Do you feel guilty, Monsieur Wiseau, objectifying women so that you can advertise _spectacles_, of all things?"

"Funny you should say that," said Monsieur Wiseau, "because it's about time we brought out Miguel."

"Miguel?" said Jeanne, confused. "Who – "

Six-foot-two-inches of exquisitely-carved muscle sauntered out onto the stage, wearing nothing but a bath towel. The sharp features of his face were accentuated by a painstakingly cultivated goatee. He was Miguel.

"What's he doing here?" asked Jeanne, her voice becoming thin with suspicion and alarm.

"Why, Jeanne, this is an equal opportunity campaign," explained Cereza.

Miguel removed his towel, and every single drop of colour trickled from Jeanne's face, rendering her positively _corpse-like_. Miguel casually sat himself down on the same structure on which Cereza was resting. An assistant rushed out and perched a pair of spectacles on his aquiline nose.

Monsieur Wiseau cleared his throat. "Now, Bayonetta, Miguel, we need to show the viewer that spectacles are beautiful, attractive, wisdom is powerful. Sexy, yeeeeaaaah! So we need you both to provide some real sexual tension, yeah…"

"Sexual tension?" asked Jeanne. By now, her voice had become so high-pitched that everyone in the entire studio knew her throat would be sore _as hell_ in the morning. "_Sexual tension?_ No! No, there will be no sexual tension! Cereza…._**what is this? What are you two doing? Don't you dare touch her! I swear to Nyx, if your skin touches her, I will personally flay you alive! You have one warning, you himbo! One little touch, and I will emasculate you! One – little – touch!"**_

()()()()()()()()()

The photo session eventually came to an end, and, realistically, how long could Jeanne remain truly angry?

As the pair passed through the doors of the studio, Jeanne turned to her partner, and said: "I sincerely hope that this debacle was not some manner of _test_, Cereza."

Cereza wordlessly crooked her elbow. Jeanne looked at the outstretched arm, and after a moment of hesitation, circled her own arm through it. They walked together to the corner of the block where Jeanne's motorcycle had been parked. For the journey home, Cereza insisted on taking her turn to drive. This, _of course_, was an invitation for Jeanne to spend the trip with her arms wrapped around her girlfriend's waist. Whatever lingering anger remained was gone by the time they reached home.

()()()()()()()()()()

Jeanne began to undress. Cereza said: "Why not allow _me_ to get you out of those clothes?"

The corner of Jeanne's mouth turned upwards, and she held her arms out, signaling agreement. "I would return the favour," she remarked, "but that would probably involve pulling your hair. That might be painful."

"Tonight, pain is not on the agenda," Cereza replied.

Cereza began by unwinding Jeanne's scarf from around her neck, and tossing it next to the bathroom sink. Next, she helped Jeanne remove her blouse, and then made an ostentatious show of neatly folding the garment.

Cereza smirked mischievously. "It's a nice blouse. We wouldn't want it to get _creased_."

Jeanne snatched the blouse from her hands, and flung it roughly on the tiled floor. "To hell with neatness."

Taking heed of her impatience, Cereza began to remove Jeanne's clothes with more haste. As she did so, her own outfit began to unravel and collapse as the strands of hair came apart.

When Jeanne was stripped to her underwear, something seemed to occur to Cereza. "I've just remembered," she said.

"What?" asked Jeanne.

"When we parted ways, I deleted all of the 'special' photos I had of you."

"All of them?"

"The entire collection. What a pity. They were really nice."

"Well, I'm glad that I can trust you to respect my privacy. I was half-expecting them to appear on a billboard in the middle of a city street."

"I would never! But anyway, I'm going to have to replace them. Build a new collection."

"Well, quite unlike you, Cereza, I am willing to pose for only _one_ person."

Cereza raised an eyebrow, and then Jeanne realized that devious fingers had undone the clasp of her bra. Cereza pulled the bra off, and tossed it aside. "Jeanne…" she began, digging her fingers beneath the waistband of Jeanne's panties.

"…there is no one in the world," she continued, sliding the undergarment down the length of her legs.

"…that is quite so skilled at making me feel _bloody special_…" she said, freeing the garment from Jeanne's feet.

The panties sailed across the room and landed on the floor. "…as you."

()()()()()()()()()()()

Jeanne and Cereza washed their hair. Given that they were both Umbra Witches, this was a far more complicated operation than a normal human might imagine. Jeanne and Cereza both possessed enough hair to give form to gargantuan demons, and so washing it was a truly immense undertaking. Both witches went through inconceivably vast amounts of shampoo and conditioner every single week.

During the days of the Umbra Order, there was a shameful secret that the Sisters never talked about. Luckily, Cereza and Jeanne lived in far more enlightened times, now, and they were very pleased with the fact that one of a witch's most sensitive erogenous zones was the scalp.

It took Jeanne and Cereza an hour to clean their hair that night. They normally got it done more quickly, but they simply lost sight of the time.

()()()()()()()()

At nine o'clock, Jeanne and Cereza finally got round to making dinner. They decided on pasta. Jeanne stood over a pot and gently stirred the Bolognese; an obvious prompt for Cereza to come and embrace her from behind. They stood together, waiting for the sauce to boil.

A thought entered Jeanne's mind: _One day, I'd like to use Cereza as a dinner plate. I'm sure she wouldn't mind._

Cereza noticed that she was smiling. "What's so amusing?" she asked.

"Nothing," said Jeanne. She took the thought, and inserted it into her _Fantasies I'm Going To Explore With Cereza In The Future_ file.

The file was positively overflowing.

()()()()()()()()

Midnight found Cereza and Jeanne curled up together on the couch. A pleasing hint of shampoo remained in the air.

Jeanne reached out, and gently squeezed her lover's knee. "I'm glad I have you back, Cereza," she murmured. Cereza simply laid her hand on top of Jeanne's in response.

In some peripheral corner of her mind, Jeanne was aware that she and Cereza were in a honeymoon period. She knew that there was a whole slew of things that could eventually go wrong. To begin with, even if Jeanne succeeded in forcing herself to be less judgmental, she could easily find other ways of being an unpleasant bitch. And Cereza had managed to keep away from the booze for an incredible _three weeks_, but what would happen when life actually became _difficult_, and the temptation to drink returned?

Jeanne decided not to dwell on these thoughts for the time being. For one thing, they were too depressing, and for another, she was too damned _tired_. _I'll just enjoy this renewed love for what it is_, she thought.

Cereza brought her fingers to Jeanne's cheek, and raised her face to hers. She studied the bags beneath Jeanne's eyes.

"If you fall asleep like this, dear," said Cereza, "you'll wake up sore all over. And then you won't be able to perform all the things I'll want you to do. Let's go to bed."

Jeanne smiled faintly. Cereza pushed herself off the couch, and Jeanne allowed her to pull her to her feet. They walked hand-in-hand to the bedroom, and, climbing into bed, sank together into peaceful sleep.

**THE END**

**If I wrote anymore of this fic, I would just start repeating things. Seems like a good time to draw things to a close. At one point, I was convinced that I could finish this story off in six chapters, but nooooooo! **

**As the story has progressed, I've become more and more concerned about OOCness. I concede that some people may have different interpretations of Jeanne, in particular, but hey. My favorite excuse is that Jeanne only acts vulnerable where Cereza is concerned, and is an indomitable ice queen with everyone else. On the other hand, I strongly believe that the Bayonetta in the game could easily evolve into the Bayonetta in this fic.**

**Thanks to all who left reviews and thus validated my miserable existence. I may have a final one-shot in store, so keep your eyes peeled. Goodbye all!**


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